Even the Light will Die out
by Twistedmaniac
Summary: Reposted and rewritten! DracoHarryHades. Hogwarts and most of the wizarding world has fallen to darkness and the slave trade. Harry is a slave to Hades, while Draco is in the market, dying of voluntary starvation. Please review!
1. Meet Hades

A/N: This is the new version of Even the Light can Die out, which was previously deleted from this site, because apparently I'm too violent and too perverted to rate anything of mine just "R". Not that that's stopping me or anything, hehe. I'm sorry this took so long to post, I really am. And thanks so very much to my spectacular beta (she's so good that it's kind of disturbing) and everyone who supported this story in the past! I hope you like it!

IMPORTANT NOTE: In order not to have this deleted, all the scenes that go beyond R will be cut out _until_ I find a site on which to post the full, bloody, uncensored story. When I find this site, I will post the link in with this story for those who wish to see Even the Light can Die out in all of it's violent glory, but continue to post the censored version here. If you have the name of such a site, please, tell me, and describe it or something because for some reason the messages cut out the link's name. So really, if you have a name for a non-prudish site, please, please email me. My email address is available on my homepage.

(Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter, or the characters in it, or Hogwarts, the original plot, and so on. What I do own is Hades, who is completely and utterly mine, and the twisted plot, dialogue, details of this fanfic, etc. I'm not J.K Rowling nor do I pretend to be.)

(Warnings: Rape, slash, torture, language, lots of violence, slavery Harry's a slave, for one much darkness, incest, probably some self harm, some suicidal thinking and urges, and if anything else comes up I will add it in. I don't aim to trigger or upset people. By reading past these warnings, you have just taken any responsibility out of my hands. Though really, this stuff will be toned down for this particular site, so you probably don't have to worry about it.)

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Harry Potter's vision was being eaten away by bursts of brightly colored light, beginning to blot out the world in large, shapeless blotches. He would gladly have welcomed the inevitable darkness that meant oblivion, except that whenever he was knocked unconscious, the situation always managed to be worse when he woke up than when he'd been knocked out. And so he fought to stay conscious.

"Hades…please…" Harry croaked, feeling his windpipe begin to give way under the demon's iron grip.

"Please, what?" Hades asked pleasantly, grinning, flashing wicked fangs. His perfect, white teeth were accompanied by deadly canines, and the rest, though they looked vaguely human, were sharp as well. When he spoke you caught glimpses, if he wanted you to. When he grinned like this, it was an image out of a nightmare. Though as always, that 'nightmare' was just too gorgeous to be categorized as such.

Harry almost couldn't say it, but he whispered, "Stop." His hands clawed weakly at the fingers around his neck. It wasn't a conscious decision, because logic had proved a thousand times over that Hades was so very, very much stronger than he. It was one of the barest of survival instincts; an automatic reaction because he couldn't _not_ struggle.

Harry lost several seconds, and he saw Hades' mouth move for a split second, but no sound came out. The next thing he knew he had been released in a sudden rush, and without the hand to support him, collapsed to the floor, coughing uncontrollably and gasping for breath.

Chest heaving as it attempted to make up for the breath he had lost, Harry stared up at the demon from the floor. His breath rattled in and out of his open mouth, a hand to his aching throat.

Yet Hades hadn't crushed his throat, hadn't squeezed half as hard as he could easily have done, and had done before. Harry wasn't sure he knew why. Hades wasn't one to spare anyone pain, ever. Just one to endlessly cause it.

"It's no fun if you're going to pass out," Hades said playfully, dropping to his knees in front of Harry, who was still relearning how to breathe.

"After all, the games are only beginning." Hades smiled.

Harry stared back into the silver eyes and what he saw in them made his pulse speed up. He froze, like a cornered mouse before a cat. He knew the sort of games Hades liked to play and would do nearly anything in the world not to play them.

Then it was like a switch had been flicked, and Harry had been in the dark all along. His terror dissolved, and his eyes followed the demon's movements, but not with suspicion or fear. Once he saw Hades like that, he couldn't understand, couldn't grasp why he had been afraid. It was like a memory that just wouldn't surface.

Hades rose like he had unseen strings attached to him that had pulled him to his feet. People, humans, don't move like that, Harry marveled. Like Hades had muscles in places that people never knew existed.

Hades stood, arms folded over his bare chest as Harry did nothing but stare at him. Every detail of his body fascinated him, enraptured him.

Hades' eyes were the feature you usually studied first, because there was nothing like them on Earth. They might be considered perfectly human if it weren't for the liquid silver of them; though there were times, in Hades' more demonic moments, when the silver glowed. Once, and only once, Harry had seen that silver glow with an inner fire, and swallow the whites of his eyes completely, the black human pupil narrowing to something like a snake's. Harry didn't want to remember that, simply because he'd much rather devour every inch of Hades with his eyes.

Hades' face was in perfect symmetry, and utterly flawless, from the dark eyebrows arching above those incredible eyes to the lips that you just knew were meant for so much more than talking. Harry had to try to meet Hades' eyes when he spoke and not watch those seductive lips instead. His milky white skin was smooth, soft, and always warm to the touch, no matter the temperature around him. It was the kind of skin that has never known an imperfection, and makes you reach out to touch it, just to see if it's real; if it's just as soft, just as perfect as it looks, as if it was kissed by moonlight.

Harry's eyes followed the amazingly long black hair that hung all the way down to just before the ass that Harry struggled not to watch whenever he walked behind the demon. That hair was thick, like liquid silk falling around the demon, strands of it framing his face, since Hades was facing towards Harry now, he went back from the face, down Hades' neck, to the beautifully masculine chest, to follow the sleekly muscled arms to his long-fingered, currently human hands, then down the narrow hips and the long, jean-clad legs.

Almost feminine sounding if described wrong, but at any angle you looked at him from, it was painfully clear that Hades was male. With an inhumanly, utterly flawless, exotic beauty, and an air to him that gave off sensuality, elegance, violence, and sex, like women wore perfume, Hades turned lesbians and straight men bisexual, though only for him of course. If he lifted the glamour. Hades needed glamour, not to enhance his beauty, but to dim it, so that its brilliance would not blind.

Hades had been the immediate and decisive factor that told Harry that he definitely liked men, too.

But Harry would not, could not stare any longer, because it was suddenly hard to breathe around the desire now ruling his body. He wanted to run his fingers through all of that long hair, wanted to caress every inch of him, wanted to….

Harry was on his feet and walking towards Hades without making the conscious decision to do so.

The world was hazy, he couldn't think, like maybe something was pressing in from the outside, but it was unimportant, utterly insignificant. As soon as Harry had half noticed it, it had died, completely, and the faint essence of it may as well have never been. Like the distant buzz of an insect that seconds later flew too close to the flame and was burned to nothing.

Everything had narrowed down to one thing. It was like having tunnel vision. All he could see was Hades; all he could want was Hades. He was so beautiful…so very, very beautiful….

The "switch" was flicked again, and it was like waking up from a strange dream, the kind where you knew it was a very good one but it shouldn't have been, and it should have been a nightmare.

Harry heard what he had said, like an echo of another's voice, though it was as if he had said it in another reality. The words he had spoken made the blood rush to his face.

By this time, it was almost too late. Harry was on the floor, with Hades looking down at him, and he didn't quite remember getting there. But he had no doubt what could – no, would – have happened if Hades hadn't brought him back to himself.

"Fuck!" Fear chilled Harry's skin, swept through him in a wave that made his eyes wide, mouth dry. Harry tried to pull away, disoriented, angry, and panicking. "Don't ever do that again! And get off of me!"

Hades was actually sitting on Harry, knees spread so that one was on either side of him. Two hands pinned both of Harry's wrists just level with his head. By some small miracle, the only piece of clothing missing was the shirt that Hades had never had in the first place.

Hades widened his eyes, mock innocent. "But I thought this was what you wanted, Harry. You shouldn't talk like that if you don't mean it."

Color rose to heat Harry's face again. He knew what Hades was reminding him of, the heated words he had spoken not a minute ago. Harry couldn't even remember them exactly, but he did remember how he had said them. The pure need, the heat in his own voice….Harry shivered with the memory.

To drown out what he had felt, said, done, Harry said angrily, "You _forced_ me to feel that, Hades! I wasn't myself. I was under your control."

"Are you convincing me, or yourself?" Hades asked, amused. "I didn't force you. I force you to _not _have to feel like this, and that's the only lie here. This is reality, how it would be, at best. Anyway, I only affect you in the first place of your own desire, just like everyone else. And let me tell you, there was no shortage of it!" Hades laughed. "Satan, you must have some control just to keep from –"

"Stop!" Harry interrupted. "Listen to me carefully, Hades: I fucking loathe you. I hate you with everything I have. I spend every day tormented by you, every night, every second of my life. You take everything from me. You took away my future, you took away my freedom, you took away any chance of rebuilding a life for myself. I – hate – you!" Harry spat the last three words.

"You're so melodramatic, Harry," Hades said dismissively. "Then maybe this will teach you just how little hate can be worth." Hades lowered himself some so that he was even closer to Harry. "No matter how much you hate me, or think you do, if you truly hated me with everything you had, you wouldn't be underneath me right now."

Harry used the only real argument he had right now, even though he knew it wasn't true. It was actually the opposite, if you thought of it. "You controlled my body, my mind, Hades! How could I have avoided this?"

"This is going nowhere. Just let me say this, Harry," Hades said, face almost solemn, but intense, with a fine heat in his eyes. "That…what you felt…was absolutely nothing. That was only a fraction of what you do feel, what you could feel, unlocked. I can make it so much more. Someday I'll show you just what I mean."

Harry stared warily into Hades' pale eyes. Those eyes never stayed the same for long. The silver changed color, too, from pale to dark and everywhere in between, even if they stayed human otherwise.

Harry's mouth was suddenly dry, and he had to clear his throat before he asked, "What do you mean?" To him it had sounded threatening or sexual, maybe both, and he still had no idea what the words themselves meant.

"Several different things," Hades said, and with that cryptic comment, swung Harry up to his feet. "I'm tired of talking."

Harry face remained cautious, masking a feeling of dread and a heart beginning to beat faster.

"Another day. For now, I don't want you lusting after me too much." Hades slung Harry over his shoulder as though he weighed nothing.

Harry closed his eyes. So that was the next game. Harry wondered briefly if he could kill himself somewhere along the way. Preferably right now, but on the stairs at least. He didn't know if he would survive this time, and he didn't mean physically. Hades would let him die on a whim some day, when he was bored, most likely. But for now, he liked his toys alive and screaming.

_No…I'm still living for something._ Harry told himself firmly. _Though what that could possibly be, I have no fucking idea._

"I hate that fucking bed," Harry whispered to himself as they ascended the stairs of the dungeon. It was a rather odd thing to say, maybe, because if he didn't get hurt every time he was on the bed he would like it very much. It wasn't the bed that was the problem; it was what was done on it, or more specifically, Hades himself. But saying it somehow left him with a little more dignity, or something like it, because the alternatives would be pleading with Hades (which was both humiliating and utterly pointless) or kicking and struggling and breaking down into screams, and Hades would like that.

Hades grinned "If you'd rather be fucked against the hard wall of the dungeon, then by all means..."

"No," Harry said flatly. He tried not to think or feel, shutting out everything, and…goddamn the world! Did Hades have to carry him like this?! With Harry's head hanging down the middle of Hades' back, so that he got to watch that perfect ass move with every step he took?

A short time later, Harry suppressed a sigh of utter frustration. They were in Hades' bedroom, and he had done nothing but watch Hades' back side as he walked. Fuck.

Well, that _had_ actually shut out everything, what he had wanted, but not in the way he had hoped. Especially after telling Hades just how much he hated him, and unconsciously resolving to hate him even more, to stop lusting after him. So much for that.

Harry was tossed onto the bed, facedown, and felt his body seize up, and not with fear, but with Hades' power. He couldn't move, and though it was not the first time Hades had done this particular magic to him, he still found it hard to breathe, his body tricking him into believing he couldn't draw breath, because he couldn't move. It still made him have to control his panic, the fear that pressed in from all sides.

With some effort, Harry got his breathing under control, and while he obviously didn't like the paralysis gripping his entire body, he accepted it. He had fought it several times before, ending in a panic attack and no progress whatsoever. The best way to deal with this was, unfortunately, to accept that you wouldn't move unless Hades wanted you to.

Instinctively, he tried to look at Hades, but couldn't so much as twitch his head. He couldn't see Hades, and that scared him, too. First involuntary lesson your instincts learn in the tender care of Hades was that you never take your eyes off him if you can help it.

"You've got far too many clothes on."

Harry was flipped so that Hades was above him, a hand on either side of him, hair falling around them like a black curtain. The long fingered, elegant human hands were still human, but in the place of their human nails were pearly white claws. Sharpened to a wicked point, they were, however, not the true form that Hades' hands took when he was fully demon.

Hades positioned one of those deadly nails at the base of Harry's neck, and Harry's pulse sped up. In a fast, almost unseen, movement, Hades ripped the shirt he had been wearing to shreds, and Harry couldn't suppress the small sound that escaped him. If he could move, he would have twitched, at the very least, and the claws would most likely have ripped more than clothing. But as it was, he couldn't move, and he could only hold his breath, trying to remain as still as possible (which was stupid because he couldn't have moved if he had wanted to).

Somehow, the skin tight shirt was in pieces, but his skin was untouched. Harry idly wondered how long it had taken Hades to perfect that little trick.

"I wish you'd stop doing that," Harry sighed, and his voice only shook a little. "I'm running out of clothes."

Hades grinned, but otherwise ignored him. Harry wasn't running out of clothes. He was running out of clothes that a relatively normal person might be wearing.

Hades unbuttoned Harry's pants, unzipped the fly, taking his time as Harry really did stop breathing, his bravado having evaporated in a rush of remembered fear. Hades slid them in a smooth, practiced, motion from his legs, to the floor, and there were no more clothes to shed.

One of those clawed fingers stroked his cheek, lightly, and he felt blood trickle down his neck. The wound was even fairly deep, though the demon had done nothing more than scrape it.

Harry stared up at Hades once again, thoroughly trapped, refusing to show his fear, though his body was trembling and couldn't stop. Apparently he could move, just enough to tremble. His past experience was that the magic allowed him to move for certain things, but it did its job in bringing out a strange form of claustrophobia that fed Harry's fear of this even more.

How someone could manage to be so drop dead, incredibly sexy, the definition of perfection, and still be terrifying, and demonic, Harry didn't understand. But Hades managed, easily. He made you want him until he was all you thought about, made you look at him with a starving man's gaze, and want him so much that you really didn't care what he did to you, as long as it was him that did it. He also made you fear him, more than anything in this world, and have part of you hate him so much it could kill you.

Hades lowered himself onto Harry, and a long, slender, but human tongue flicked out to lazily trace the trail of blood from the cut on his cheek, down his bare chest, and Harry squirmed, and couldn't help it. It felt good, and it wasn't supposed to, damnit!

"Stop that," Harry said hoarsely.

Hades looked up, licked a stray drop of crimson from his lips, and Harry's eyes followed the movement. "It's rape, Harry. If I want to make you feel pleasure before the pain, I will."

Harry lowered his eyes. He didn't know quite what was in them, and he didn't want Hades to see it.

"However," Hades said, placing a strangely chaste kiss on Harry's lips, "This is rape, tonight, and not seduction."

Before Harry could feel some relief that insult wasn't going to be added to injury, Hades deepened the kiss. Silken lips sliding over Harry's, Hades whispered against him, "For now."

Harry said nothing, swallowing, because his head was spinning once again, and that second he didn't know if he could speak. And if he did, what he would say. Right now all he knew was that Hades was pressing against him, that his hair smelled indescribably delicious, and that he could still taste him from the kiss. And that he wanted more, and this had nothing to do with having his mind messed with. This was just what he felt, plainly and simply.

Hades smiled. "Sometimes it's almost hard to rape you because I'd rather fuck you. You really are beautiful."

Harry couldn't fully appreciate the fact that Hades had just said something _nice_ to him, because he was lost at, "rather fuck you."

"Wow, you just believed me, didn't you?" Hades said, never even blinking, and grinned. "You're pathetic."

"What – "

In a whirl of colors, Harry was no longer looking up at Hades, and though it made his head spin, it cleared something up for him. Just another game. Hades got to feel his victim hard and wanting, pressed against him, kissing him, right before he raped him.

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"Get…off," Harry rasped, when his heart beat had slowed, and he could think just a little past the pain. Enough to cover the basic need to get help, to heal, and get Hades out from inside of him.

It might have been moments, minutes, hours, Harry couldn't tell, because his sense of time was gone, and he didn't know if it had ended some time ago, but Hades had decided to rape him again, and if so, how many times it had happened.

Hades drew himself out of Harry and rolled to the other side of the large bed. Harry closed his eyes, tears squeezing between them still, and knew he was shaking, but couldn't stop. He just wanted to disappear, have the bed open up and swallow him. He didn't want to think, didn't want to feel. More than anything in the world, he wanted pure obliteration. He tried to curl in on himself, to cease to exist, but Hades touched him, fairly lightly, and still Harry flinched like he had hit him.

"Don't you fucking touch me," Harry said quietly. He would have screamed it, but his throat hurt too much to do that.

Hades ignored Harry and drew the hurting boy towards him until he was holding him, and it hurt too much to move, so Harry had no choice but to let him, though it drew a whimper from him.

No matter how much he had wanted to make no noise, Hades always knew just where it hurt most, always knew just what to do to either surprise a sound from him, or tear it from his unwilling mouth. And just like it was every fucking time, he had been anything but silent.

This close, even without looking at him, he could smell him, that indescribable scent that was purely Hades, and wanted to lean into the touch like a cat and its favorite person. Even now.

"It hurts," Harry said, tears running down his face. It hurt even to say that, his throat sore and hurting from the noises that had come from it.

What he had wanted to say was that he loathed him, wanted to hurt him in any and all ways possible, that he was a sick bastard. Anything but the weak, stupid, and Someone knows _redundant_, two words, "It hurts".

He wasn't crying out of self pity. Harry would never do that. No, if you discounted the main reason (so much pain that he couldn't even move without screaming) it was for being helpless. So helpless that he couldn't move if Hades didn't want him to, couldn't speak his mind, couldn't use magic, couldn't do anything that wasn't Hades' decision first. And what he wanted most right now was to melt away into nothing, at the very least fall asleep, and he couldn't even do that. He had lost all freedom he ever had, and more than all the other torture that he went through, it was that fact that ate away at any remaining will to live. And tonight that will to survive had finally been butchered. If not tomorrow, or forever even, for now, death seemed like a wonderful concept.

Though let's not forget yet another reason for why he cried. For even vaguely wanting Hades, for at times wanting him so badly that he _wanted_ him to do what he did, all of it. (Even now…) That he had been fully hard, with the taste of Hades' mouth on his, when the pain had started. This was what hurt, what burned, even more.

You don't lust after your rapist, your 'master' that bought you so casually, like you could buy a pet. The twisted bastard that lives for your pain. The man that you know is a real demon, and would slaughter you on a whim, and forget about you the second your body was disposed of. You loathe them, you plan revenge against them, but _you_ _do not want them_, even if it's just their body. Even if they are the single most beautiful thing you have ever laid eyes upon.

To lust after Hades, after all that he had done, and was still doing, was what tormented him more than almost anything else. Harry would say, more than any physical or otherwise torture ever could, but that would be a lie. There was no one alive better at doing what Hades did.

"It hurts," Harry whispered, saying those two damn words again, but to himself, without realizing he had said them at all.

Harry was distracted by too much else to notice the smile playing on the demon's lips. Hades had heard, of course, and he knew that Harry wasn't talking about any physical pain this time.

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Draco Malfoy leaned his head against the cold wall of his cell. He was so hungry it hurt, might have made him crumple in a corner clutching his stomach if he wasn't used to it.

Ignoring his stomach, just like old times, he distracted himself with more of the rather bitter thoughts that he couldn't seem to stop thinking.

The downfall of the Dark Lord was supposed to be a _good_ thing, damnit. Potter kills Dark Lord, Dark Lord dies, everyone's happy. Simple.

So what had happened?! Hogwarts, protected by Dumbledore himself and _impossible to burn_, burned down, the goddamn slave trade becomes a way of life, chaos envelopes the wizarding world.

That was all Draco knew…Hogwarts had appeared to be smothered in flames, the shouts filling the quiet night air. Then he must have hit his head, because all he remembered next was waking up at the house of his now dead "master", wondering why he had survived. No one told him anything, and he had no idea what was happening now, really.

Draco closed his eyes. He knew absolutely nothing. All those fucking questions but not one answer. And he, Draco Malfoy was not a respected aristocrat, not anyone, just another slave in the market, waiting for his next master. The master that he would never have to meet.

The Slytherin's first and only master hadn't been that bad, considering. He had made the mistake of pissing Draco off, and then been stupid enough to leave his wand lying around. Draco did _not_ like being ordered around, and didn't answer to anyone but himself, and Lucius, mainly because if he didn't it would mean pain. And thus, his first master was lying facedown in the mud in a pigsty, quite dead, and for all Draco knew, still unfound.

Yet here he was again. He had been knocked unconscious, again, woken up here, about three days ago. He was filthy, he had lost everything, _everything_, and he was dying - which was fine with him.

Dying was a better option than serving anyone. It was lucky the bastard known as Fudge and his guards didn't keep a very good eye on whether his little slaves ate the measly amount of food shoved in twice a day.

Draco wasn't making the effort to stay alive, not anymore. He wasn't serving anyone and he wasn't going to be anyone's puppet or pet. He wasn't going to kill anyone unless he bloody well wanted to for his own reasons. The only two people he had ever fought for, killed for, and served was himself and his father, and to the death, it would stay that way.

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A/N: REVIEW, because it's been so long and I miss the old reviewers! Please review, especially everyone who followed the old version of this story before it was deleted, because I'm rewriting it for you guys. Hugs to all of you! Criticisms, rants, insults, comments, whatever you want to throw at me is more than welcome. Be brutally honest. Flames are welcomed with open arms, I love them.


	2. Demons Don't Sleep

A/N: Hey, you see this? Quick. For me, anyway. Warning graphic crap, blah, blah, you should really be used to it by now, and go have fun. Get scarred for life, I really don't care. Your problem. I mean, you know what a sick fuck I am, right? Yeah, and I'm damn proud of it and not about to change. Thanks a lot for all of the lovely reviews, by the way, they were muchly appreciated. Enjoy.

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Everything hurt in some way or another. Harry's entire body ached, and was the kind of sore that had spread even to his bones. As for true pain, his back was second only to the area only inches below it, not to mention a dozen other smaller hurts all over, all eclipsed by the pulsating pain in his ass.

When Harry awoke, it was because of that pain. He woke up tense all over. Immediately, the muscles around the place most damaged clenched without warning, an automatic reaction that made him gasp a curse with a voice too hoarse for anything louder. His eyes sprang open.

Hades had both arms wrapped around him, fingers tracing idle designs into the raw meat of his back, Harry's head tucked into his chest. The two bodies were perfectly intertwined, and nude. It was warm, and comfortable, if he ignored the immediate agony consuming his body.

The demon's eyes were closed, lips curved in a small smile, breath slow and even.

"Hades," Harry choked out. "Please – wake up!"

Hades ignored him, running his hand over his back in a gesture that would have been fine, soothing even, if he hadn't recently shredded it. Harry twisted in his arms, and the strangled sound of pain he had been trying to suppress spilled out from his mouth. The fingers played firmly upon his back, stroking bare bone, and the sound rose to a scream. The scream didn't sound right; it burned Harry's throat and came out with a rasping noise that brought all the memories back to Harry. He had screamed enough last night, right up until whatever the end was, that he would need a potion to cure his voice before he did anything above a hoarse whisper. He ended up coughing painfully, and having to hold his breath until the burning need to cough faded.

"That's what I like to wake up to," Hades murmured. "Screams, from a throat so damaged it can barely produce them. Not to mention a warm, naked body writhing against mine."

"Please – I – I can't take it," Harry finally rasped in a semi coherent sentence.

"You'll live." Hades' eyes never opened, and Harry thought he was asleep again, though the smile had widened.

Harry stared at the sleeping demon, wondering how had ever slept at all. He had been damaged so much that he was in too much pain to move without screaming, or attempting it. The answer eventually came to his slowed mind. He must have passed out. There was no possible fucking way he could have slept a normal sleep like he was now. Hades, temporarily satisfied and in a good mood, had let him pass out. Of course, the instant Hades had actually allowed him to pass out, Harry's pain had awoken him and Hades couldn't be bothered to let him be mildly content for more than about three seconds at a time. So he had once again gotten no sleep, literally about a minute at best, though how he had gotten back on the bed and entwined with Hades he didn't remember.

"Hades, please!" Harry said, wanting to scream not with pain but pure frustration. "You can't go back to sleep!"

"When will you learn, Harry, I don't sleep," Hades murmured. "I just don't care."

"Hades…"

Hades said vaguely. "I hope you know, it's not even 4 a.m. yet."

"It doesn't matter, damnit! You're a fucking demon! _You_ _don't sleep_!" Harry glared at the still form, which had shown no sign of movement. "You said it yourself about ten seconds ago!"

Silence from Hades.

"Look, there is no part of my body that _doesn't_ hurt! It's just a matter of what hurts less, and I – need – something!" Harry ground out as long fingers probed through a shred of skin and ground into the bare nerves. Harry's back bowed, seeking to avoid it, and he didn't even try to smother his scream of pain. The scream itself hurt enough that he was reduced to whimpers.

"Every time you talk from now until two hours from now, I will do this," Hades said, the tips of the human fingers turning sharp and hard to ever so slightly penetrate the vulnerable flesh, for emphasis.

"That's not fair," Harry whispered. "Please…Master."

"Nice try," Hades muttered. "I'm not moving."

Harry's cheeks burned with anger and just a little shame for calling him master. Though right now if he stopped the pain, Harry would call him anything he wanted him to. Hell, he'd get up and freaking tap dance for the bastard if the pain would just stop.

"Fuck you," Harry said harshly. "You sadistic bastard. You're not my master in any way and you never will be! You're just a psychopath with ―"

Claws pressed into his torn flesh, carefully, so carefully, the raw skin bowing painfully slowly beneath them. Seconds passed, and with no real skin at all to protect his back, even that slowly, the claws easily penetrated the bloody flesh, entering with immense precision. It was drawn out as long as possible, the claws eventually sinking all the way in, taking different paths, several of them piercing the flesh to trail lazily along the bone beneath it, leaving fine trails of white dust in their wake. The pure white grains of bone were immediately turned crimson as blood was spattered everywhere.

Harry struggled with all he had not to move, biting down on a generous bunch of blanket to shut himself up, though small noises like swallowed screams and shrieks could not possibly be repressed. Tears were streaming down his cheeks, and he was shaking violently all over with the need to move. But if he moved it would just make it worse, drive those long claws in deeper. He had no doubt that very soon they would reach other, much more important things. Like his kidneys. And Hades wouldn't heal him until he bloody well felt like it, so Harry would have to live with fucking shredded organs, and he didn't want that.

The deadly claws traced the mutilated surface, forcibly pushing apart the flesh to make room to snake around and scrape the underside of one of his vertebrae, to nick something much more important than flesh and blood, or even bone. It was the barest of scratches, but this was something that was never meant to be exposed, much less touched.

Blood was once again rolling in wet lines to stain his back a bright cherry red, and the sheets as well.

_Why?! Why in – I'm dying, I'm dying, please let me be dying, oh GOD – Hell did I insult him?! Two words are all the excuses that freak needs to make me bleed all over his sheets. _

In his more eloquent moments that was what he thought, albeit in chaotic snatches. Mostly he thought in screams, if he 'thought' at all.

Harry clutched in each hand a bundle of sheets, so tightly his hands shook even more, like he would fall into oblivion if he let go.

Those wicked tools, picking apart the raw mess of muscle, crawling through, over, and around flesh and bone, and softer, more tender things, with audible, wet noises; the meaty sound of flesh tearing, the commanding click of claw on bone, the almost nails-on-chalkboard sound of those claws forcibly caressing the bones bared for all to see. It wasn't mindless shredding, it was slow and purposeful, and it made his body twist and turn to escape them, his spine bow and his legs kick out. Harry was writhing, convulsing, had been for a while, because there's only so much logic you can hold to when a demon as 'talented' as Hades has you pinned to the bed and is carefully and methodically shredding your back. His mind was no longer available to tell him it was actually several times worse this way. Fuck organs, it _hurt_.

Hades hooked one claw under a bit of something thicker and more flexible than flesh and Harry tried to still himself, desperately hoping this was the end. Hades drew his finger toward himself, plucking it like a chord and jerking it towards him as it split, unable to stretch from its fleshy attachments. As this particular part of him snapped, so did Harry.

"STOP! STOP!" Harry screamed, and there was blood flying from his mouth; he had bitten his lip hard enough that he couldn't scream without spitting blood. And soon, maybe already, that blood would be from deep inside of him.

Hades did stop, though it wasn't because Harry had told him to.

"Now look what you made me do," Hades' said, like he was a kid with a pencil and a piece of paper, and another kid was bumping his arm as he drew. The demon had almost stopped, and was now absently dragging a single claw back and forth, back and forth, over the utter mess of Harry's back, seeming not to notice Harry's convulsions. "I was actually about to get up so we could get to the market early. Did I mention we're going slave shopping today? You can pick one out, too."

Harry lay there, shivering violently, involuntarily twitching, breathing in breaths that were more like gasps. He was sobbing, even though he had no tears left, and couldn't stop. He screamed, a scream that was half sobbing, and half a ragged, wordless scream. He wasn't even sure it from the pain anymore.

It must have been a long time later, maybe as much as an hour, he couldn't tell, but when he could talk without sobbing, he somehow remembered the statement Hades had made and managed automatically, "Not things to pick out. People. Don't talk like that."

"For fuck's sake, Harry, you can't just learn a lesson the hard way, can you?" Hades said, shaking his head, but Harry knew he was grinning, even though he was still lying facedown in the sheets. "Fine."

_I hope this time he does something useful and just sews my fucking mouth shut. _ Harry thought dully.

Harry was now lying on his mangled back, looking up at Hades.

There was a stray smear of now dry blood just to the side of Hades' mouth, and as if Harry was a mirror and he saw himself reflected in him, that long tongue flicked out to lick the spot clean, and Harry knew he had left it there just so he could see that. That Hades had fed from him sometime during or after the long period in which his back had been sliced to bits. That not everything that had been tearing at his back might have been claws, but teeth, or that it could have happened when Harry had been waiting to answer, when Harry had more or less been in shock. Or both.

"You fed on me," Harry whispered, because it hurt less than talking. "When?"

"Briefly when I was doing your back, then after, when you were less than sane and the pain was so intense that your body didn't notice a little more, and I knew we had to get to the slave market, so I made it quick. But that doesn't matter. Listen up."

Harry was still trying to figure out how he hadn't noticed a fully grown demon feeding on the raw meat of his back. The answer was as it usually was: because it was Hades, and Harry had yet to find something he couldn't do.

"Talk back to me in response to this and I will beat these words into you until they are all you can think, all you can say, Harry," Hades said, face serious, except for maybe the dark look in his eyes that made them gleam. "In your old life things were different. You could throw your little fits, and be a stubborn son of a bitch, and probably much more besides that I could care less about. Well, you can't now, and you have got to understand that. This isn't Hogwarts, and I'm not one of your pesky little fans. I am your master. I own every inch of you. I can snuff your life out in less than half a second like it was a dying flame. I can also make you live forever. You're an amusing plaything, and because of that, you are alive. But that's all you are. You are not the savior of anything. And you are not a person. You are a slave, and you belong to me."

_Is that all I am? _Harry thought, considering the words, with a detached sort of shock. He couldn't even begin to think what to reply with. _An 'amusing plaything'? _

Hades, still hanging over Harry, tightened his hands around Harry's wrists. "Now what is it you say?"

"I'm sorry," Harry whispered, and he half meant it. "You are my master."

_Just don't hurt me. I don't want these words beaten into me. No more, please, no more. _

Once upon a time, his pride would never have allowed him to say those words. Not now. Right now he really would say anything, anything, to end this pain, to get a healing potion.

"I know," Hades said, stood up, releasing Harry, and jumped to the floor without making a sound. "Now, I can get you into the market naked, but knowing you, you'll probably want some clothes."

Harry turned his head to the side to look up at him. He felt so vulnerable, exposed, weak. Hades stood over him, looking impossibly tall and imposing, as Harry lay on his torn up back, naked. When he felt Hades' eyes roam over his body, he brought his knees to his stomach in an effort to cover himself, even though it made another tear slip from his eye. People never realize how much their back is used to run the rest of their body until it's broken, or at least damaged. Just curling his legs in and hugging them made his back scream a protest.

When he felt, saw, Hades take another step towards him, there was no conscious decision to lie there and hurt a bit less, or to be stupid and move, just the instant action of scrambling upright and scooting backwards until he reached the wall and the head of the bed. It was awkward, distantly quite painful, and when the urge to move had died a little because his back had hit the wall, he realized it didn't just hurt, it made him want to lose all grip on appearing somewhat sane.

But Hades would like that, and some small part of his mind was shouting at him to stay calm, not to make any noise, not to fall to the floor, because Hades would get off on it and things would go downhill from there.

"Please, please don't, Master," Harry half choked. "Not again, not this soon."

Hades was smiling, but Harry couldn't read it, and that made him scramble desperately for words that might delay, help, do anything.

"You – we – have to go buy the slaves," Harry reminded him quickly, the words strung together as a single word, as Hades smiled, the kind of smile that made Harry flinch.

Hades put his hands on his hips in what should have been a feminine gesture, shook his head, but grinned anyway. "You see what happens when I try to be nice?"

Harry stared at him, his terror chased away by puzzlement.

"I wasn't going to fuck you. I was about to pull you to your feet, you reject."

"Oh," Harry said stupidly, some of the tension leaving his body. The one time Hades almost did something nice and he freaked. He _was _a reject. Great, so now he was getting paranoid.

He tried to stand, really tried, and wound up just trying to move off of the bed, which degraded into just trying to move at all. Harry finally just lay there, panting, frustrated beyond belief, his frustration channeling into anger at Hades for causing this.

"For fuck's sake," Hades said eventually, after a rather long while of failure. As he said this he injected his claws into the torn flesh of Harry's back, curling them to give him the perfect handhold, and Harry was lifted into the air by his spine with a yelp. Hades kept him just above the near edge of the bed, then shook his hand to the side, retracting his claws and dumping the whimpering boy to the floor, who promptly passed out.

By that small, painful miracle, Harry had finally passed out from the pain and the force of the fall and was lying on the floor in an awkward position, out cold. Being unconscious, Harry never heard the soft laughter that penetrated the otherwise silent room.

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A/N: I love reviews, and they do help. Thanks to those who send them to me, I appreciate them, I really do. I respond to all that are signed. Merry Christmas, Holidays, present-getting, everyone.


	3. Sex God?

A/N: Happy Christmas, everyone. Thought with all of this holiday shit and happy people you might need some good, solid, kinky slash.

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"Hey. You. Up." Hades nudged Harry in the ribs with a foot.

Blearily, Harry blinked up at him. Had he fallen asleep? Pain washed over him in a blinding rush, pain and memories, and Harry sat straight up, a stupid idea, and brought his knees to his chest. Yes, the pain was fucking excruciating, but he was naked, and he just didn't feel like lying helplessly on the floor right now.

Hades was dressed, which was usually a good sign. Sometimes. Occasionally. Harry mentally sighed. Fuck it, there just was no such thing as a good sign when it came to Hades.

Hades was wearing a long sleeved, flowing, white collared shirt that was tucked into black pants with a dark leather belt and a silver buckle. His hair was pulled back from his face in a casual ponytail that spilled down his back, leaving his face completely bare from the usual fall of hair. It left his face almost too beautiful to bear, giving him away as something other than human; he was too perfect to ever appear human, even when his eyes, like now, were almost human, only their extraordinary color truly giving them away. Humans had all kinds of imperfections, small and otherwise, but Hades had none. His outfit was almost simple, but when did simple ever make Hades look any less spectacular? The sight of him, standing just a few feet away, temporarily stunned Harry, and all he could do was stare, transfixed.

"Feel better? You got almost an entire minute of sleep this time," Hades said, smiling serenely. Several minutes passed. "Harry, this house could ignite and you would sit there, gawking at me as you burned and I didn't."

Well, that was one of the weirder ways Harry had heard in the stead of just saying, "You're staring."

Harry looked away, too much in pain to really be angry with himself, just to marvel that he had completely forgotten his pain, just looking at a fully clothed Hades that wasn't even _trying_ to be seductive. This did not bode well for the future.

"May I ask why you are all dressed up, Master?" Harry asked with a throat still sore, saying the first thing that came to mind. Beyond Harry's polite tone it sounded suspicious even to his own ears.

"Dressed up? You call this 'dressed up'?" Hades snorted.

"You look sorta respectable," Harry said. "You know, not the whole kinky sadomasochistic look, and no jeans or anything."

"If I wanted to look respectable, I would cut my hair, _not_ have a bite mark on the side of my neck," Hades said, touching the mark a struggling Harry had previously given him. "And make you dress up, too. As it is, and as you have proven by staring at me for a full five minutes like I'm some kind of sex god, I look good. Make sense?"

Harry resisted the urge to scowl at Hades, though he knew his face wasn't happy, and Hades smiled back. "Was I wrong?"

_Shit. Say no, say no. It is _not _okay to think he looks amazing. He just raped you! He just…_

"Are you really a demon? Because I will have absolutely no trouble believing that you're a sex god."

_Way to come up with snappy comeback, Harry. Call him a sex god, yeah, he'll be crying over that one for days. _

Hades grinned. "You know, you could have just said yes, Hades, you look good. But calling me a sex god, I like that, too."

Harry looked anywhere in the room but at Hades, trying to think of an excuse of why he'd said that.

"I'll let you pretend you hate me," Hades said with a knowing smile. "You still in agony, Harry? You must be, because you're being polite."

"Yes, actually," Harry said through gritted teeth, still lying flat on his back. Part of the anger in his next words came from confusion, and from more or less calling Hades a sex god. "Will you heal me, please?! I feel like someone shoved a battering ram up my ass, my back was put in a blender, and then someone decided that wasn't quite enough and beat the living shit out of me."

_Well, I said please. It was almost polite. _

Hades grinned. "Glad to hear it."

_Fuck it. I'll go back to playing nice in a minute. If I bottle this up I'll just blow up at him and end up worse than I am now. _

"Look, Hades, what was that all about last night? You had your fun and then you ignored me! Not to mention you being bitchy, which really never happens. I have honestly never _once _seen you angry, and that's just weird…"

"It's fun being bitchy with you. You get so frustrated, it's adorable."

"So you _were_ just doing that for fun…" Harry paused. "Did you just call me 'adorable'?"

"Well, yeah, I never actually get bitchy, so sometimes I do it for fun, though why that comes as a surprise to you I have no idea. Second question: no. That was bullshit," Hades said matter-of-factly.

_So weird…sometimes just out of the blue he'll say things like that, and he never means them, I know he doesn't, but it's so stupid; I want him to mean those words. I want him to, and I feel so stupid for almost believing them, and then for wanting him to really mean them. _

"Please, Hades will you get me a potion now?" Harry said each word carefully, controlling his temper.

"What happened to Master?"

"….Please, Master," Harry said calmly, internally screaming at him.

"No. Get up."

Harry tried once again to stand. Not two minutes later he was lying on the floor, trying not to cry. Not just with pain, but with the pure frustration of being helpless. Of having to ask the cause of why he couldn't stand in the first place for help.

"Can you, um, help me up then?" he muttered.

"Of course." Hades seized him by his ribs and hauled him to his feet so fast the world spun.

"Hades!" Harry gasped, and he fell, or would have, if Hades hadn't caught him. He was lifted off of the ground, into his arms, head dangling over on arm so he saw the world practically upside-down.

"Open your mouth, and keep it open," Hades instructed. "If you choke and spit it all over me, you get to keep your pain for another day."

"Wh - ?" Harry started, and for a terrible second thought Hades was talking about something much different then what it was. Then hot, hot, liquid was pouring down his throat. Healing potion, he realized with a relief so large it felt like a drug. He tried to sit up some, and just kept swallowing, because he was so _not_ going around like this for another day.

"Let go," Harry said, choking around the words. But he had kept it down, and would heal. Life was looking up, for now, at least. He fell to the floor, coughing madly, and then thanked whatever bastard was out there for quick healing potions.

He lay there on the floor for a few minutes, until he experienced the now almost alien sensation of not hurting in any place. He stood up, flexing his arms, rolling his shoulders, a hand to his back. His back was healed, but not entirely. The skin felt ridged, like it had been slashed, cut up some, rather than having it just be a mass of raw, bleeding meat and bones. Now he only felt some bone. So he had been wrong, it still hurt, though the potion dulled the pain some, it had just seemed like it hadn't compared to the way it had been.

"Thank you…Master," Harry said, forcing the words out of his mouth. Not so long ago he would have been furious with Hades and made that very clear. Not so long ago at all he had learned what a fucking stupid, what a terrible, idea that was. If he had to play nicely to keep all of his body parts intact and his blood inside of him, then he would.

"Can I have some clothes, please?" Harry asked. No matter how often he was forced to be without clothes, he could never get over the fact that he felt exposed, obviously, vulnerable, awkward. Now that the pain was gone, he could focus on how very uncomfortable he was with it.

Hades turned towards him and smiled. "Naturally."

Harry did not like that smile.

Clothes were tossed in his general direction, and Harry caught something black that almost slid through his hands.

_This is not what I want…no…I want a nice, baggy T-shirt to throw over me and not brush against my back, and cover all of my chest. _

Harry shrugged, though inside he was not feeling 'casual' at all, and without realizing it, reminded himself aloud, "I've had worse."

Hades laughed. "Yeah, you have."

Harry didn't want to remember some of the outfits he'd been forced to wear, in public, no less. Fucking kinky demons.

Harry slipped it over his head. It was skin tight and long sleeved, and sheer enough that there was really no point to wearing it anyhow. It hid nothing, though it was fairly soft against his back's cuts. The nearly-transparent black material seemed to be made of something like silk.

He picked up the pants from the floor, and pulled them on. They were Gothic pants, almost like jeans but black and with more added to them. Black, flat strips of material not quite an inch and a half in width attached to each of his back pockets with metal links, and then right below the pockets in front, to hang, criss-crossing, just over his thighs in back in a near perfect X. They weren't stiff, however, and could be removed; bondage pants, most called them. The black denim wasn't exactly tight, but it did fit very well. What stitching there was on the pants was an almost mercury-colored blue, and there were several other choice metal additions that didn't seem to serve any purpose.

Harry sighed. He had never appreciated the wonderful privilege of dressing himself, and he should have, now that it was completely gone. He also should have appreciated being able to wear something between him and his pants. Now, he had learned not to ask for underwear, because Hades' idea of such things were usually worse than nothing at all. He'd come to the conclusion that Hades only did that to get Harry to stop asking for it. It didn't seem like he'd ever actually wanted him to wear them, just to laugh at the look on Harry's face.

Harry took that moment to allow himself to be wistful and a little angry, too; to wish that Hades would just for once give him a non-ripped, perfectly normal pair of jeans and a regular T-shirt, or anything comfortable, loose, he actually wanted something plain, even ugly. To Harry, clothes were things that you wore so you weren't naked. They didn't have to match, or matter at all as long as they covered what they were meant to cover and were comfortable.

It was strange, the thousands of small things that he had never noticed, was never grateful for. If by some extraordinary miracle he ever got his life back, his freedom, he would never look at life the same way. He'd promised himself that. Harry would go through each day as though he were it were his first, as though he were drunk on every detail. As though up until that moment he had been walking around with his fingers jammed in his ears, humming loudly, eyes shut tight. And in a way, he had been.

"Stop day dreaming and get over here." Hades' voice brought Harry back to reality. Harry's head snapped up.

Fuck, he did _not_ like that smile.

_Yes, you're a kinky bastard, stop smiling_, Harry thought. Well, it was true, he had had worse. This was almost (vaguely) mild for Hades' tastes.

Harry hesitated, just for half a second.

"Am I not being persuasive enough, Harry? Because I can be much more persuasive."

Harry was standing obediently in front of him at "not". Something about his voice, maybe, even though it never strayed from pleasant.

Then something was slipped around his neck, tightened until if it were just the tiniest bit tighter, he would have trouble breathing. It was smooth, yet very slightly rough. Leather. His fingers tested the collar, and found that the silver spikes on it were far sharper than any of the few others he'd ever seen in his life.

"No," Harry said flatly. "No. I will not go out like this."

"No, not like that," Hades agreed, and attached a chain to the collar. The sharp sound of metal on metal, and of the links of the chain clicking as Hades nimbly wove it through his fingers seemed louder than it should have been.

"Like this."

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A/N: Happy Christmas, guys, and please review. I love them all. You all rock.


	4. Pet

A/N: Hey, everyone. Thought I should give one last update before I have to return to school and things get even more busy. I really appreciate the reviews, guys, so thanks! Especially since I hate looking up here and remembering…_This used to have over 200 reviews. Damnit!_ So keep them coming! I hope I can get to where we were before.

"No," Harry said, shaking his head, over and over again. "_No_. Forget it, Hades, I won't wear this!"

Harry had forgotten about being polite, about avoiding any more pain. He couldn't do this. And more importantly, he wouldn't. He put up with a lot of shit, but this was too much.

"You already are, and I'll set you free if you can get it off," Hades said, amused. "No really, go ahead and try."

Harry's fingers dug into the relatively soft leather, but there was no possible way for even an eyelash to fit between his skin and the collar. He clawed at it, falling to his knees, chain slack enough to let him, trying everything he could think of, (which wasn't very much) but the collar didn't so much as move a millimeter.

Eventually, Harry gave up, when his fingers were sore, and a rather long while had passed. Needless to say, his mood had not improved.

Harry stood, and his temper flared. His hands shook, and his body temperature seemed to rise. He knew he was going to act stupidly, like he always did, but he couldn't stop it. "Take it off, Hades, now."

"You're doing it again," Hades said, in a matching don't-be-stupid sing song tone that further infuriated Harry.

"Get it off, get it off, you fucking bastard!" Harry shouted, and he was more panicking than angry now, he body whispering, _we can't breathe, can't breathe, we're dying!_ in a sort of mantra, though somewhere Harry did know that wasn't right. Harry would have said more, but in a harsh jerk of the chain was back in Hades' arms again.

"You really do need to work on that temper of yours, pet." Yet Hades' voice wasn't angry. It was laced with an undertone of darkness that's usually reserved for the most intimate of moments.

It was more than just words, so much more than just a voice, like it always was with Hades. It seemed to flow through Harry, and caress parts of him that hands could never reach.

"I'm…not your pet," Harry whispered, clinging to his anger. He was not going to be seduced, not with one fucking sentence. He could do better than that. Couldn't he?

"You _are_ strange…do you know that, Harry?" Hades mused. "You're different from the others that have been beneath my thumb. They break, they lose their minds, they become obsessed with me, addicted, or they wither into shadows of themselves. Sometimes all of what I have just described happens, and sometimes it happens within the first couple of hours. You see the others who serve me in this house? Puppets. Dolls. They're long gone. Why not you?"

Harry distantly realized he was asking a question, and holding back physically enough so that Harry could answer. He also realized Hades had been, and still was, holding back, on everything. This wasn't the worst of what he could do. Not even close.

Harry licked his suddenly dry lips. "I don't know."

"As I thought," Hades said strangely, as though he really didn't care, emphasizing the next word ever so slightly. "Pet."

"Take it off," Harry said, concentrating with all he had on the problem at hand. He couldn't concentrate on what he was saying. He was fighting this, and he was losing.

"You know, Harry," Hades said softly in his ear. "I could care less if I have to put off getting the slaves until you can behave. I can keep us here all…day…and…all…night…."

Those last words seemed to last for longer than they should have; so tempting, sending small shivers down his body.

Harry wasn't moving, was hardly breathing now, held tight against the demon, both of Hades' arms wrapped around Harry's chest. That voice…those words…wrapped themselves around him like a velvet blanket, warm, almost physical in their sensuality.

"Maybe I don't want to buy slaves after all…I can always do it another day…yes, I rather like that idea," Hades purred, and his hand was traveling down, down, smoothing over the bare flesh to begin to disappear under the front of the black pants.

It brought a small sigh from Harry's lips, and some little, annoying voice told him that if he didn't do something, anything to protest, that he never would. He was losing, badly, and he'd lost his anger completely, which is what usually helped to anchor him to his words, to himself.

"Slaves," Harry gasped, in a sudden panic. "I'll stop, I'll stop! I'll stop!"

It wasn't a very intelligible sentence, but Harry's point got across.

"Are you sure of that? Because if you're going to struggle and try and run away from me again, my hand just might slip," Hades whispered, lips brushing Harry's ear. "And we'll see just how much you hate me."

Hades released him, withdrew his hand from where it had been, dangerously close to slipping just a little bit further and lowering the chances of Harry protesting to none.

Which was very fortunate, because Harry had just lost. Those last words had eaten through to what Harry must really have wanted, and he had no more protests. If Hades had not let him go at that second, Harry's next words would have been very different.

Harry almost fell to the floor, and the world tilted dangerously for a moment, and then he realized that he had actually stopped breathing, and took a deep breath and just concentrating on breathing. Breathing was good. It was so very much simpler than thinking, and now was one of many times when he needed not to think.

"So tell me, Harry, which is it." Hades' voice came from not several inches behind Harry. "Are you going to obey your master, or will you continue to pout those pretty lips at me and pay the price?"

Hades' voice was lazy, and Harry knew without a doubt that Hades would buy his slaves if Harry behaved himself, but if he didn't, than Hades would be as good as his word. Harry would rebel just a bit, if he could at all, and would find out that even if his mind was annoyingly torn in what it wanted (or thought it should want) his body did, and his mind's opinion wasn't needed.

Harry didn't want to know what would happen if he threw any more tantrums, or did anything to give Hades the excuse to do what he wanted with him more than he already did. All he knew is that if Hades told him to slit his own wrists, he would do it. If Hades wanted him to stick his hand through a child's stomach and fish around among all the bloody guts and ribs until he found their beating heart, he would do it, and he would do it with a smile on his face. If Hades wanted to have kinky sex, well, he would do that, too, no mind control needed. Just the freeing of those other pesky things that always got in the way, like burning hatred, and a few lingering morals. And Harry would still have to wake up the next day, after any of these things, or however many days later it could be, and deal with what had happened and live with it.

Harry shivered, the kind of shiver that creeps up your spine and then spreads to chill your entire body. "No, Master. I – " Harry took a breath and tried again. _I can't promise to obey forever or always…because you're Hades, and about 52 cards short of a full deck. I won't join in on your idea of 'fun' with small children just because you want me to… but_ _I don't want to be punished. I'll be your pet, your slave, your toy, whatever you want me to be, for now. Because there's no fucking way I'm going to let you seduce me just because I won't let you put a leash on me. _

"I'll stop," Harry finally said. He had almost said something that was a lot more, practically groveling, but fuck it, he just wasn't going to do that. He wasn't shouting at Hades, he wasn't even being rude, and he was admitting defeat. It was enough. "I'm sorry. I'll listen."

"Too bad," Hades said dismissively. "I was looking forward to delaying buying the slaves for a few days and just fucking your brains out, but I suppose this will have to go."

Harry whirled around to face Hades, and Hades was smiling happily enough, probably planning out the best way to make Harry suffer.

Before Harry could shut himself up, he said something that had been bothering him from the start. "Hades, are you _ever_ unhappy?" Harry asked it as a genuine question, with just a small undertone of irritation, maybe. Mostly he asked it because he so didn't want to go to the slave market with Hades, on a freaking leash. Hades' only smile widened. "I mean, it's creepy," Harry insisted. "I have never once seen you angry, sad, depressed, annoyed, nothing! Not truly, or not that I can see, anyway. And you were just being a pain in the ass last night because it amused you, not because you were actually irritated."

Hades just grinned at Harry. "If I didn't know any better, Harry, I'd say you were stalling."

Harry sighed. "Forget it."

_Damn it,_ Harry thought. _Not that I was trying too hard, but Hades can read me so easily. Whereas every single thing he says to me could be a blatant lie and I would never know. It's scary. I really don't know anything about him that you couldn't find out within a minute of meeting him, or that he would tell you anyhow. And even that could be lies._

Hades jerked the chain, having already started walking without Harry, dragging him out the door.

The collar choked him, pressing in on his windpipe so that even if the chain wasn't forcefully dragging him along he had to move if he wanted to be able to breathe.

But Harry was really going to act the slave right now, and slaves did not complain.

The pale sun nearly blinded Harry as he stumbled outside and he wondered how long it had been since he'd been outside. He had no idea how long he'd even been a slave at Hades' house, some of that perhaps because of the erratic sleeping pattern he had had to get used to. Hades never actually slept, and never rested. Whenever Harry slept, which was not too often (combined effort of the waking nightmare deciding there were better things to do and the actual nightmares that he'd rather avoid) Hades was somewhere in the house, probably the dungeon, or just Out.

It was summer, so it was actually fairly warm, and Harry came close to smiling, resisting the urge to run through the field, not to run away, but because he could. Because he was outside, in the sun, and he hadn't realized how much he'd missed that until now. He missed the sun and grass and chilling winds…Quiditch especially. He missed flying towards the setting globe of fire amid fierce winds, rosy cheeks, and cheers, eye on that small, golden…

Hades turned to face him, shattering his nostalgia. "I'm not dragging you the whole way. You do know how to walk, don't you?"

A/N: Please, please do review. Thanks to everyone who has so far. I'm going to reply eventually, but for now, just know that I appreciate them very much.


	5. It's Good Business

A/N: Although I had this ready to post, something came up. Sorry for the delay. Do enjoy, loves.

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Harry silently moved up in front of Hades, though not so far that he could really feel the chain, or at least, it wasn't choking him.

It wasn't far to the slave market, not by magic, obviously. Hades' house was located at one end of a pale grassy field that stretched for what seemed like miles, surrounded by a swamp and dead trees that never seemed to end. It also sported some lovely weeping willows, thorny bushes and vines that entwined themselves with many of the trees, and some strange creatures. The flowers were exotic and often seemed only to exist only around Hades' house. Except they were never the bright happy flowers everyone was always picking for their sweethearts or showing in cartoons. Occasionally they ate people, or a very unlucky animal.

Often tendrils of fog drifted through the swampy wood. It was fittingly both somehow beautiful and utterly hostile. No barbed wire or fences were needed. It was impossible that anyone could ever find it, even if they heard the strange noises coming from the house, just as it was impossible to leave the house without Hades.

The house itself was huge, with a spacious basement that could truly be called a dungeon with no added exaggeration whatsoever, and enough rooms to wonder how any one person could possibly use them all. It had large, elegant windows that seemed indestructible, and you could curl up on the windowsill and look out into the woods.

The house had a garden, a rose garden filled with lush black and blue rose bushes. Sometimes they changed color or just looked different, though it was often hard to see why. Sometimes they were crimson or silken white. Their stems were thick and thriving, with strong, piercing thorns, the soil a rich, moist and deep brown that never seemed to require water. There were vines climbing the house, with cruel, hooked thorns, some with exotic and lovely silvery blossoms that seemed to glow when the moonlight hit them. Outside the wooden door was a large weeping willow that brushed Harry's hair as he walked.

As far as Harry knew the only way out was to use magic, unless you were Hades, though Harry doubted his master would waste his time walking so far.

Another hint of otherness (one of many) for Hades was that though he used magic often, he didn't own a wand. Oh, he owned Harry's, because anything of Harry's was his. But for himself, he never needed to use a wand or even say anything. Harry didn't know how he did it.

There was no fierce wind, only a faint coolness, a change of temperature, and Harry was no longer walking on grass, but on the rather uneven cobblestones of the slave market, where it was a bit warmer. Ever since the wizarding world had fallen, the slave markets were everywhere. It was good business.

The slave market was not a pleasant place. It stank; of stale urine, sweat, and bodies that hadn't seen soap in far too long. Cell after cell of slaves filled a square of city bleeding into what used to be a park. It had always made Harry angry, so angry. The hopelessness, the misery that radiated from all of them, the knowledge that it wouldn't get better; it would most likely get worse. Everything about it. Now, as he looked through the faces, part of him was angry, it always would be, but another part of him was glad, in a sickly, depressed kind of way. They were treated badly and miserable, yes, but they hadn't gotten Hades.

Cornelius Fudge and his followers were all under the same small tree, fanning themselves with whatever could be found.

Harry's lip curled and he knew he looked murderous. One of the people he hated most, right in front of him. Cornelius Fudge. That little fucking bastard could have stood up to the Dark like the rest. Could've tried to support and save his people. But the fat little maggot was sitting there comfortably in his white suit, fanning himself with a magazine while slaves moaned and muttered in pain and sorrow. He was even smiling as Hades and Harry approached.

"Ah! Always good to see you, sir. What can I do for you today?" Fudge asked, beaming, as if there was nothing he'd rather do than do whatever he possibly could to help Hades. He didn't so much as glance at the mere slave on the lead.

"You can sit there on your ass like you always do until I find my slaves," Hades said coolly. "I doubt you could tell one from another, seeing as you have probably never taken more than ten seconds out of your precious time to make sure they at least don't starve to death, as I can see they are beginning to do."

Hades gestured towards a body that had various different bugs crawling over and inside it.

"Can I trust that my slaves won't fall to pieces the second they stand?" Hades said, and Harry couldn't help but smile at the sight of the nervous, sweating man that was Fudge. The slow, curling smile could really only be called a sneer. Fudge's eyes flicked to him at last, as if looking for support, or inspiration. The look on Harry's face made his next words come out tumbling and stuttering.

"I assure you, sir, I assure you, our slaves are – "

"Dying," Hades cut in. "They are dying, you careless fool. I don't want to waste breath on someone as pathetic as you, much less money. And the people have a right to know about this fool and his dying slaves. Come pet, we're leaving this pig sty."

"N-no! Wait!" Fudge said breathlessly, as Harry almost happily began to walk away with Hades leading him. This was the most fun he'd had since Hogwarts. "Please, there's no need to be telling anyone!"

Hades continued to walk, talking without looking back. "And why shouldn't I?"

"Because – because you can have as many as you want, sir, no money needed! And I promise that I'll, well, I'll make sure to clean this place up, sir! I'll give them something to eat right away!" Fudge said, panicking.

"Well…if they're foolish enough that they can't see what's plainly in front of them, then I suppose that's their own fault. But there's no excuse for your laziness and disregard for your own slaves," Hades said, turning to bestow a cold look to Fudge, who squealed, looking terrified, and stuttered orders to some nearby guards to feed and attend to the slaves, right away.

When Fudge had disappeared, Hades looked almost disgusted. "That was much too easy."

Harry couldn't help but smile, though it somehow felt crooked, still more of a sneer. "That was pretty smooth," he admitted.

"I don't like him," Hades said simply, leading them past the cells. Sunken eyes followed the figures, clearing in wonder and fear. "And he should know better than to let the things he makes his money from starve to death. It's impractical."

"And you get free slaves," Harry added under his breath.

"Yes," Hades said, smiling. "Now go find your slave. Don't fuck it up and chose one I won't like."

"Like I can move more than five feet from you," Harry muttered.

"Make it male. Attractive. Go on," Hades said, kicking Harry in the opposite direction as him, and Harry found he could move without being choked by the chain. Hades had lengthened the lead. He would never have unclipped him.

_Not that you need to save money anyway,_ Harry thought. _You're filthy rich…not that you care. _

It was one of the things that surprised Harry about Hades, for some reason. He genuinely did not seem to care about money, nor did he really use it that often. Dead people are rather generous, apparently. Hades preferred tricking people, killing them for whatever item he wanted (even if it happened to be a safety pin) or persuading them to just give it to him. Things like that. It was as if money made things too easy.

Harry's mind wandered, thoughts on Hades, as he half-heartedly searched the cells. He really did not want to pick out Hades' next victim. Condemning them to whatever life or end Hades chose for them. He would always be branded as the one who forced them to lead that life, because if only he had left them in their depressing cells...

Of course, if he didn't chose, Hades would not only find some way to punish him for it but get at least twice as many slaves as he would have if Harry had just picked one out. He turned his head to look into the nearest cell, resigned.

There, slumped a boy that had to be around 17 years old, so the same age as Harry. His ribs jutted out from his chest, his stomach frighteningly flat. There was little meat on his bones, no flesh to spare. His head was bowed, but Harry could see the dark shadows underneath his closed eyes, his skin almost gray, sickly pale. His blond hair was lank and dull, unkempt and uncared for. He was sitting slumped against the wall, one knee up with his arm resting on it, the other stretched out limply in front of him.

Harry found himself taking a step towards the cell, despite the strong mix of odors emanating from it. There was something familiar about him, and that meant almost certainly that he was from Hogwarts. One of maybe three survivors, including Harry. Someone else had survived that puzzling and chaotic night. Someone he could talk to, or recognize.

"Hey," Harry said tentatively. His stomach twisted painfully at the sight of him, and he realized it was very possible that the would-be-slave was already dead. "Are you alive?"

The head rose slowly, and the gray eyes staring back at him were dull and half lidded. The boy stared at him for a moment, and then his eyes widened and he said in a hoarse voice, "Potter?!" at the same time that Harry said incredulously, "Malfoy?!"

There was a moment where the two just looked at each other, surprised beyond belief.

"Come to laugh at me?" Draco Malfoy said dryly.

"Funny, I haven't felt much like laughing lately," Harry said in nearly the same tone. "If you somehow missed it, I'm not any better off than you are."

"That so?" Draco ran his eyes up and down his old enemy's body. "Well, you certainly improved on your fashion sense, at least, though I must say, I never knew –"

"_Not_ my choice of clothing," Harry interrupted, as Draco smirked, a shadow of his old one. "My 'master' –" Harry paused and looked down the cells, where Hades was moving closer to them, and Hades saw him looking, and flashed him a smile that made Harry's heart skip a beat. He turned away in a hurry, blushing.

"What was that?" Draco asked, raising an eyebrow at him. "I couldn't see whoever you were looking at, but if that was your master than you have no right to bitch because you definitely like her."

"I don't – " Harry began, flustered. "You'd know if you met him, that I'd never – "

"A guy?" Draco asked, his eyebrow still raised. "You like guys? My, you have changed, Potter. No wonder you could never stick to any of your girlfriends."  
"No, I don't like him! I – " Harry protested, but was cut off when Hades came up from behind him and wrapped his arms around him.

"What's this you're saying about me, Harry?" Hades asked, resting his chin on Harry's shoulder. Harry could hide his shiver, though he tried, and lowered his eyes.

"Nothing, Hades."

"Actually you don't have to try, I heard it anyway," Hades said with a smile. "You are such a liar."

"Forget it," Harry muttered, blushing more than ever. "Just give me a minute, I'll be done in a second."

"Choose this one," Hades said, eyes on the figure sitting just a little straighter, the figure staring back. He wrapped his fingers tighter around the chain, and they clicked and jingled slightly as he did so. "I think this one is perfect."

"Can I talk to him for a second, please, Hades?" Harry said, avoiding Malfoy's eyes. Ashamed.

Hades unwrapped his arms from Harry and shrugged. "Knock yourself out. I'm going to get the last slave." And with that, he strode off, unwinding the chain just enough from his fingers so as not to choke Harry.

"What was _that_?" Malfoy asked, crawling forward so he could watch Hades leave.

"That was Hades, my master. He bought me as soon as I woke up, I've been with him ever since," Harry said uncomfortably.

"Yes, but what _is _he?" Malfoy questioned, still trying to see past the wall of his cell. "Whatever he is, he hasn't been human for a long, long time."

"He's a demon," Harry said with sigh. "He has some definite other...qualities though. He's an incubus, too." Harry waited for Draco to say something along the lines of, what are you complaining about? But the blond was smarter than that.

Malfoy looked at him. "And I thought I got a bad master. Shit. Demons are legend, almost non existent on Earth." Malfoy peered around the corner, like he couldn't believe he would actually be there, real. "He looks like the kind of master anyone would want, I mean, he's bloody gorgeous and he didn't even treat you badly. People would do a lot more than wear what you're wearing to so much as look at him. But I have a feeling you would say otherwise."

Harry smiled, though it wasn't a happy one. "Unless you can do something to keep him from buying you, you'll probably find out. If you ever thought Voldemort was bad, Voldemort was a peace loving human hippie compared to Hades, and even that is a huge understatement."

"If he's going to buy me, a more detailed warning would be nice."

"….To sum him up, he's a complete sociopath, to the point where it's just frightening. He's also a really big sadomasochist with the power, the ability, and the desire to do whatever he wants to anyone on a whim at any time for as long as he wants."

"…he's also a pedophile, a rapist, in more ways than one, and he has basically limitless power. He will do whatever he wants, whenever he wants, and even though he's an evil bastard, he's very playful, though he sometimes hides his intelligence behind his playfulness and a few other ways, you never know what he's thinking, if every word he speaks is a lie, and he is utterly manipulative, tempting, and infuriating."

Draco Malfoy stared at Harry Potter as he spoke, trying to sum up all of a demon that could never be fully described or understood anyhow. His green eyes dulled, and his voice spoke with a quiet rage, barely contained. Utter hatred, spiced with something almost humiliated, and something else. Because Draco had seen Potter's face when Hades had his arms around him, and seen the blush on Potter's face when Hades had only given him a look. Heard him try and deny that he didn't like Hades, watched as he shivered when Hades was so close to him. As soon as Hades had left, Harry had this intense hatred filling his voice as he spoke of him, yet with an undertone of something more complex than he would let on. How did this work out?

"That's Hades, I guess," Harry said with a sigh, running a hand through his hair. Fuck, he was tired. When was the last time he'd slept? "I should go and talk to him. I'll try to get him to leave you alone, but I doubt that will make a difference."

"You mean you'd rather leave me here?"

"I mean you _want_ me to leave you here, trust me." Harry turned away and just followed the chain. Hades was about ten tightly packed cells down, with the chain coiled around his hands. He wound it tighter, and Harry sped his pace to keep up with the rapidly retreating chain.

Hades jerked it, and Harry stumbled right almost to Hades' feet, barely managing to keep his footing, and choking.

Harry cleared his throat and said hoarsely, sparing a glance at the nearest cell, "Have you chosen, Hades?"

"Yeah. I'm buying two girls and two boys…you chose that boy, right? If not him, then you have to pick someone."

Harry glances back to Draco, and something compelled him to say, "Yes." He half-hated himself for saying it, because it meant he'd just decided Draco's life for him. He'd as good as damned him. But if not him, then who? If not him, then would he ever meet anyone from the past again? His mind was too tired to think past this. Just get him. Too late. Too damn late.

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A/N: Please review. Right about now I could really use some. Thanks.


	6. Your New Home

Replies for those who reviewed anonymously and just had to be answered, and to those that I just didn't reply to previously:

G: Illogical as your review was, I decided to give you extra points for spelling "curious" with a q. Nice work, there, champ.

inthesechains: KYAAA!! ((tackle)) Where have you been, you slippery monkey?! And I hear you. ((gets very little sleep)) Don't worry about being coherent, hehe. I never am. I know! Odd how that works out, isn't it? See, no one reviewing this story has ever been like, "I hate Hades!!" If there's someone here that doesn't like him, I've yet to meet them. But you're cooler than cool and I give you tasty slash now. Hooray!! ((is sleeplessly happily quite hyper and totally coherent all the way))

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The large door of Hades' house loomed before them, as a small crowd of slaves huddled behind them, hands bound, heads down. Draco Malfoy was among them, but Harry Potter was the one on the leash, eyes downcast. There was a small click, and the door opened to reveal the rich, tiled floors of the house. Hades climbed the few steps it took and turned in the doorway to face his new slaves, leash in hand. Arms spread wide, he grinned broadly.

"Your new home," he announced. "Welcome to the family, slaves."

They stared at him, looks ranging from hopeless lust to horror to an obscene mixture of both. No one had been able to keep their resigned, dull depression so plain on their faces. Hades was much too exotic a master to allow for such dull expressions. Of the many terrible or potentially wonderful feelings Hades inspired, anything low-key or calm was certainly not among them.

Hades continued, smiling. "With us today we have an aristocrat; Draco Malfoy, of whom I have to wonder if his father knows of his tragic position among the filthy commoners. However _did_ that happen."

Draco Malfoy's cheeks tinged with red, more anger than shame. Hades had managed to sound cheerfully curious and yet give off the distinct impression that he had no questions and actually knew exactly what had happened. It may as well have been rhetoric.

"Yeah, he does," Draco said coolly. "And I'm as filthy as any of you, if you couldn't tell."

Hades grinned. "Matter of fact, I could. That's good, too, because you're all my slaves now, and I really don't give a fuck about your pasts. All of you belong to me. You might have been a prince or an empress, well, now you're as low as everyone else."

As only Hades seemed to be able to do, the borderline amused mood almost daring to run through them for just a moment died. His tone never changed, but with his last words, the first shivers of fear for their master ran through the new slaves. Well, perhaps not the first. Just looking at him had been enough to instill plenty of fear.

"Now, I fully encourage you to run away," Hades went on, still cheerful and seemingly friendly. "Please, knock yourselves out. Really, _carpe diem,_ _carpe jugulum_, as long as you make it memorable."

Bewildered looks had joined the myriad of expressions.

"That said, running away from me is just a little impossible," Hades said, all smiles. "But I love games. And if you do attempt to displease me, we will play. Harry here is a good example. He's not very bright, and he has the scars to show for it. If you have any questions, ask him. Of course, I'm always open to questions, too. Are there any?"

Confused, frightened, and speechless, the five slaves (not including Harry and Draco) were silent.

"Really? Last chance," Hades said tauntingly, grinning, mocking their shock. "Don't any of you have any guts?"

Silence. Shaking bodies.

"Oh, well. I'll find out for myself," he said, seeming to console himself, with a secretive smile. "Most people seem to these days."

Draco couldn't help snorting.

"What are our duties?" Draco said, fascinated. Frightening, absurd, painfully beautiful, and utterly intriguing; those were the words that came to mind when looking at the demon. He certainly wouldn't be bored.

"Well, how about you give me your names first. Everyone who isn't Draco Malfoy of the new slaves, tell me your names."

"Sariad," said a girl who looked less than human, her skin graced with the barest touch of a pearlescent blue that made it seem more delicate, like something to put on display. Her gleaming eyes were large and framed by long, silvery lashes, a colour of blue that was brighter and unlike any human's. Her hair was a silvery, silken blond that more looked like liquid pearls than blond. She stood tall and elegant, keeping her composure, but Draco caught the fine shiver that ran through her slim body. She was one of those who had looked at Hades with a mixture of fear and lust and wonder alike, through her wide, almost eerily beautiful eyes. Even her voice was like pure, flowing music, strange and permanently seductive. Her slender body was clad in a white (white being the traditional colour for slaves in the market) dress that was torn and less than new, hitting her at mid-thigh and without sleeves. She was tall, carrying herself with a natural grace, and with small, tight breasts and long, smooth legs.

The rest of them followed suit, saying only their names.

"Devon," said the other girl, whose hazel eyes were so wide it looked painful. She was sickly pale, with long, unkempt brown hair and a voice hoarse with fear. Compared to the other girl, she seemed ordinarily pretty at first glance. If you didn't have Sariad to compare with, she was very pretty, enough to even be considered beautiful. But Draco thought he could see why Hades really chose her, if, like Harry said, they had all been chosen for their looks. She was shorter than the other girl by several inches, and distinctly human looking. A too-large shirt that kept slipping off her slender shoulders revealed a very curvaceous figure, drawing the eye to the generous mounds of pale flesh that the shirt dipped to reveal. Hands bound, she couldn't adjust it.

"Kaz," said a boy with blond hair trailing into solid, dark eyes that were fastened on Hades. Like the majority of them, he was too thin, ribs jutting out from his skin. He had a face to remember, with eyes so dark they looked black, and yet with blond hair a shade paler than Draco's own, nearly a silvery-white. He had angular features and sunken cheeks, the thinnest of them all aside from Draco.

One of the other boys said his name looking to the side, as if he couldn't meet Hades' eyes. "Sean."

Sean was slightly hunched, as if shielding himself from something, or trying to disappear. His eyes flicked nervously to a few of the slaves, and they were a rich blue, weary and frightened. His hair was a sandy, dirty blond, a mess of curls that he made no attempt to toss from his eyes. His skin wasn't pale, but had a small hint of golden-sun, as though he had been an athlete. And that was likely, for he was in undeniably good shape, for all to see, as he was not allowed a shirt.

The last slave, with deep black hair hanging in strands an inch or two above his shoulders (somewhat unevenly), took his chance and spoke in an unwavering voice, "Ranvir."

Draco took special note of him. Ranvir. He was the one that the demon had decided he wanted just as they had been about to leave. He was exotic, yes, but he also lacked the beaten and subdued look most slaves bore. He held his head up proudly, standing straight, with strange, honey coloured eyes, staring defiantly at Hades. His skin was a light, spice-like brown with a golden touch, smooth and unique. His lips were cracked and dry, pressed tightly together, dark brows pinching slightly together in a slight but unmistakable frown. He had a hardness to him that made Draco want to like him.

"You look like the name suits you," Hades said with a knowing smile. When he seemed to receive a general air of puzzlement, he explained, "Ranvir being the Indian name meaning 'fighter'."

Draco knew it was irrelevant, and actually worse for him, in all likelihood, but he was relieved to see someone intelligent ordering him around. Draco hated taking orders, period, but he would not stand for _stupidity._ As if being a slave wasn't bad enough, getting a master with less intelligence than his bloody hogs, but with the power to shout at Draco and live, was true hell. It was downright shaming. If that bastard hadn't been so damn thick, he wouldn't be lying facedown in the mud, rotting. That was his fault alone.

Draco's eyes flicked to his new master. Hades. That was all. No last name, no other information given, just Hades. Frightening, absurd, painfully beautiful, and utterly intriguing; the words that had come to mind when first laying eyes upon him. They didn't do him justice. He could also see that this was one who would never be foolish enough to be killed with his own wand. No, never. Not someone who got his slaves without ever having to pay one knut, used Latin in his conversations (carpe diem and carpe jugulum: meaning _seize the day_ and _seize the jugular_, respectively), and encouraged people to run away from him, simply because he enjoyed catching them. A little insane, perhaps, but Draco was no fool himself, and had a feel for such things. Intriguing was a good word for him, that was for certain.

The slaves were silent, listening and listening only, as they had been trained. They were awaiting their orders and terms, their new lives.

"You have no specific duties. You are whatever I want you to be, and you do whatever I want you to, whenever I desire it done." Hades said this without any smile, but in a flatter, almost colder tone.

And with that, he turned around, dragging Harry with him. The remaining six of them followed in silence. They all had different thoughts, but all of them had thought at one point of just how long it would take before they settled into the same despairing routines they had become accustomed to; before this, even if frightening, intrigue ended and it would end up like their pasts. But as soon as they had seen him, and shuffling inside as they were now, they knew it wouldn't. This was different.

Of course, it didn't become routine. They would never adjust, those that survived, and it would never become a droning, grueling routine as of old.

"This room doesn't really require much of an introduction, does it?" Hades remarked, his own eyes traversing the huge, cavernous stone chamber that was the dungeon. Because it was not, in any way, an exaggeration to call it such. If it was not a dungeon, then the word had simply been erased from the English language.

Everything from scythes to scalpels to katanas decorated the stone walls of the dungeon, metals glinting in the half-light of the thriving flames placed in each of the four corners. The flames were supported by black iron stands, simply, practically, and elegantly structured. They didn't look added. They looked as much a part of the room as the blades upon the walls, or the cold walls themselves. It had a slightly dank, earthy smell, basic and ancient. Underneath that smell lurked the equally basic, metallic scent of blood and many deaths.

Draco had to note that there was also an impressive collection of whips. The first he laid eyes upon, a large, thick cat-o'-nine-tails, brought the memorable scent of leather to mind, so strongly that he could have sworn he really smelled it. Eyes traveling the walls, he saw that one of them even had shards of jagged glass cleverly made part of it.

Also upon the great expanses of the four walls were chains and restraints and various niches and hooks for tools, some of which Draco had no name for, fewer of which he could guess the purpose for. They certainly weren't for decoration or any benign purpose.

The tools, blades, and even some corked vials and bottles of liquids and substances (one of which Draco was fairly sure was salt) in the room were numerous. Some of them were more machine than tool; some few of which Draco thought he recognized from a rather graphic book he'd found in the Restricted Section of Hogwarts. There had been one particular page with a very colourful illustration that had included a snapshot of a room in the Tower of London and someone in a most interesting position (and by the look of it, agonizing), forced into one of the inventions.

Just observing the room made him feel at home. They even smelled alike. He hid a smile at the irony of the thought. Lucius would have appreciated the tour.

Sariad turned to Hades, pale lashes fluttering in two slow blinks. Her blue lips parted and she had to wet them, as if they had gone dry, before she spoke.

"With all of my respect, is this room one we have not seen?" she asked in a tentative, lightly accented voice.

Hades smiled at her. "No, Sariad, this room is no secret. Anyone who is ever in my house finds their way to it eventually; slaves and guests alike."

She lowered her head for several seconds, a strangely graceful gesture of respect; respect that is born out of fear.

"If I'm in here, it means I'm busy. If you interrupt, it will likely be taken as a desire to join. That's really the end of the lessons of life involving me. You can discover the rest for yourself." Hades left, starting up the stairs leading to light and sanity. Harry, eyes blank, trailed behind, picking up his pace with a jerk of the chain.

When the brief tour had finished and the slaves had been sent to do their various jobs, Draco, who had not been given one, sought out Hades, who was still with Harry. He had to admit, he was dying of curiosity. Still, he would not ignore the weary twinges of warning, the way cold dripped down his spine and the eerie, frightening, otherness of this house and its master that got to him. No, he didn't brush off the hair-raising, uneasy feelings that Hades gave him and that this very house gave him; the unshakable feeling that pure malice was only several steps, several words away, waiting. He had curiosity, yes, and the small, admittedly irrelevant relief of at the least an _intelligent_ master and seeing a familiar face, even if it was Potter's. However, these were matters much too small to compensate for, or ease, the very real matters he had to pay attention to. And Draco was not one of the fools whose fear was mistakenly quenched by the sight of someone that beautiful. Indeed, he'd learned well enough, it was the attractive ones that were often the most dangerous.

Draco stopped, having to think for just a moment. Potter on a leash, with clothes he wouldn't have been caught dead with. Clothes radically different from the careless, often too large, junk he had always seemed to throw on at Hogwarts. A collar, too. Potter would never have allowed that, not for anything, when Draco knew him. Yeah, it was an improvement, and you could finally see his body…Draco, slightly annoyed with himself, made the effort to continue his line of thought: Also, Potter aside, the thing had a dungeon. Sure, Malfoy Manor had one, but that wasn't exactly a comfort…Hades had also picked the best looking of all of the slaves. Draco wasn't flattered. Whatever Hades had seen in him, it had not been something so nice. That damn look, for just a moment, in those piercing silver eyes…(as Harry was distracted) with that little smirk. Like he knew everything. Like he'd looked at him and recognized more than lineage. The demon had looked and on that knowledgeable face was the reflected knowledge of all of his secrets, all of his flaws, all of his desires.

Remembering that look, Draco shivered. It almost took some effort, but he continued walking, cautiously. He was remembering what Hades said about walking in on him and another in the dungeon; that it would be taken as an invitation. He hoped this would not apply here. Actually, as it happened, he hoped more than anything that there was nothing to walk in on, period. He did not want to know, he did not want to see.

The door was a bit less than halfway open, so Draco knocked softly on the door.

"Come in," said the voice of Hades. It wasn't menacing; if anything, it was as ordinary as his voice could get, with a vague, cheerful lilt to it.

Draco carefully tilted the door back. Sometimes even a door opened wrong, "too forcefully" was a cause for punishment. An excuse.

Hades was sitting on the bed with his hand curled around the silver chain of the lead, still connected to the collar around Harry Potter's neck. Potter sat mere feet away, held in place by the lead, face almost blank, but decidedly unhappy.

Potter's green eyes flicked up to Draco, almost sullenly, resignedly ashamed, daring him to laugh. Daring Draco to mock him for how far he had fallen, for the collar around his neck, for his clothes.

Draco had seen fewer things in life that could possibly have been less amusing.

His head held high, face not defiant, but blandly empty, Draco took a step inside at the beckoning of Hades' hand and, further encouraged, approached until only a yard or two away from the huge bed.

"What is it, Draco?" Hades asked, idly toying with the chain.

"You never gave me a task…?" Draco realized he wasn't sure what to call him, and was about to end on Master (some "masters" preferred different titles) when Hades interrupted.

"Just Hades," he said with a smile. "They always end up meaning the same thing, anyhow."

"Hades, then…" Draco waited for an answer.

"Draco, do you know why you are here?"

Draco gave him a weary look. Was he truly insane? Had he already forgotten? Then he realized he meant here, in this house, in the market, as a slave, etc.

"I don't know," Draco said flatly. When Hades was silent, he realized he was still waiting for a better answer. "I have no idea why my father hasn't found me. I have no idea why I survived. I don't know why I'm alive. Not a clue."

"Of course you don't," Hades dismissed, sounding patronizing to Draco's ears. "But that's alright. After all, you must feel right at home here."

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A/N: Reviews, my luverly reviewers! They make the author happy. Oh, and thanks for the reviews last time, too! They were delicious.


	7. Slap Him

A/N: So the view point does switch, which might be a bit confusing, but the thing is, that's how it is. If I change it it'll just sound awkward. Don't even try to criticize my ingenious section separators. Clearly a lot of effort went into them. Oh, and thanks a lot to my faithful reviewers, you people are amazing.

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Harry's Point of View:

"But that's alright. After all, you must feel right at home here."

Harry studied Malfoy's face. It was tightly shut against the world and he remained silent.

"Oh, how the mighty have fallen," Hades sympathized. Harry had the distinct impression there was something between the two of them that he didn't understand. Did they know each other? Or was Hades "making conversation"?

Malfoy had gotten stiller, until he seemed to be made only of marble, gray eyes burning directly into Hades'. Harry was now positive he was missing some internal exchange between the two.

"You think he cares enough to return for you? You are his, after all. It might hurt his pride to give you up. I hope so," Harry felt Hades lean forward slightly behind him, and felt the chilling warmth of what he knew must be a terrible smile. "I've been looking forward to meeting him, to seeing him in the flesh."

Malfoy's head turned to the side, face flushed, lips thinned in what looked like an effort to keep quiet. Against his fair skin, the blood that had rushed to his cheeks stood out, an angry pink-red.

Hades' voice had dropped to a maddening, just-between-you-and-I whisper. "I know you have."

"SHUT UP!" Malfoy finally broke with, clenching his teeth and striding towards the bed, gray eyes storming and flashing. "Shut the fuck _up_! Stop talking like you know everything, you goddamn faggot!"

Harry, amazed at the never-before-seen display of rage from Malfoy, hardly dared to breathe. His stomach had done an uncomfortable drop to his knees, flinching at the raw anger but mostly at what was to come. He wondered if he would finally see Hades angry. He wondered if Malfoy knew he had just done exactly what Hades probably wanted him to do. He had just given him the perfect excuse for retribution.

Harry felt, rather than saw, the spread of a grin behind him, and had to look. Had to. Turning, moving as slowly as possibly, he saw the shining white of ivory as Hades' face split into a grin that wasn't at all angry.

"Faggot?" Hades seemed to be considering the word. "What a word to hear from the mouth of a Malfoy. I suppose I am," he said, in a reasonable "it could happen" sort of tone. "And do you know what you are, Draco? You are lunch."

Harry looked at the wardrobe some feet to his left. _Be__smarter than this, Malfoy. You won't last long if you anger this easily. _

Face still twisted with anger, Malfoy looked up and was interrupted before he could speak by flying through the air to land half on his knees, sprawled before Hades. There was no show, no words for his levitation. One moment Malfoy was standing, looking poisonous and not nearly as frightened as he should have. Then the next moment, his head was snapped back with the force of it. It was as if there was an invisible rope embedded in him that Hades had grasped and reeled in less than two seconds.

"Hello, Lunch," Hades said amicably, and his head was poised over the fallen aristocrat's as if scenting him. He drew back, and said with a slightly wrinkled nose, "Fuck, my lunch needs a shower! Harry, go make him shower. Make sure he gets thoroughly clean. I don't like my meals unsanitary."

Malfoy's head rose, inches from Hades and Harry saw the first real infestation of fear begin to take root deep inside of him. Dazed, he whispered what sounded like, "Freak."

Fear of Hades was like a parasite. No, a horde of them; tiny, invasive insects. From the moment they buried beneath your skin, they only laid more eggs, until your entire body was rotting with them and it was an incurable infestation. Moments like these, unfortunately, were the nicer of their kind.

"Yes, yes," Hades said patiently, flicking the platinum blond effortlessly, like he was a bug that had outstayed its welcome. It caused him to be airborne for a split second and land Draco Malfoy some fifteen feet away, stopped only by the wall. The force of the impact would have made a lesser wall crack, and as it was, Malfoy had collided with the wall with a frightening snap, a sharp sound that seemed too loud, too harsh. Was his head and back angled oddly, or was Harry imagining it?

Harry stole a glance at Hades, who was releasing Harry from the lead and the collar. He seemed to have already forgotten the dangerously thin boy slumped against the wall. Harry wondered if Hades had somehow planned it so that Malfoy would land just so, so that it hurt but did not break. His hands had broken out in a strange, tingling sweat, shaking just a little. Gods, he hoped that was so, that it was all planned just so, and he wasn't just another corpse. That sound alone was cause for great worry, in Harry's experience. Was Hades impulsive enough to kill his "lunch" on a whim? Yes. Was he that unpredictable? Oh, yes. Shit.

Harry would not have been surprised…well…he had no right to be by now. He couldn't tell if Malfoy was breathing or not. Fuck, he was thin. What had they been doing to him? Such an impact could easily demolish such a frail body.

The collar had to tighten before it could be undone, choking Harry. When nimble fingers gathered the chain and collar, drawing them away from Harry's throat, his sigh of relief became a cough.

"Slap him, he'll wake up," Hades assured him, as Harry began to think that Draco's neck might have been what had snapped. He wasn't moving.

"Hades…that isn't how you fix people," Harry said tentatively, aware of the precarious balance of Hades' moods and the risk of questioning him. His voice lowered. "He's not moving."

Hades ignored him, stowing the collar and lead away, already knowing that his slave would obey him.

Harry swallowed, a hand to his newly freed and tight throat. He felt small ridges where the collar had been, tracing them with a finger. Just a little sore. Still, it felt good to be able to breathe as deeply as he pleased, to be able to walk where he would. As much as he could, that was.

The young man slid off of the bed, over to where the thing of skin and bones lay, unmoving, and knelt in front of him.

"Malfoy…come on, get up," Harry muttered, feeling ridiculous. Slapping unconscious people worked in the movies of muggles sometimes, but if he was really unconscious, the last thing he needed was more pain. If he was hurt as badly as he should be, it wouldn't help.

Still, loathe as he was to admit it, obedience had been drilled (one could even say literally) into him, and grudging belief in Hades' words, too. The demon was many things, but he had never been wrong, not once.

Harry hit him, lightly, and he twitched, but little more.

"Harder," Hades instructed, without turning around.

Harry took a breath, thinking of past Malfoy memories, and hit him soundly across his face. The slap seemed to echo, and stung Harry's own hand with its own force.

Malfoy's eyes flew open, face already knitting into a kind of snarl and hand darting out to catch Harry's as if it might strike again.

"Don't touch me, Potter! Merlin, what the hell is your problem?!"

"Hades…he said it was what would wake you up," Harry said, feeling stupid but trying to gather himself. "And it did, so let me go."

The grip in that bony hand was surprisingly strong, and it did let him go, tightening for a moment and then casting the arm away from him.

Harry stood, backing away. "Come on. You have to take a shower."

"I can take one all by myself, _thanks_," Malfoy said, still smarting from the visible, smeared handprint across his face. He climbed to his feet, gritting his teeth with the pain of it. Miraculously "unharmed", it still hurt to stand. Pushing off from the wall, he spared a glare at Hades, who smiled back. He didn't have the energy to say anything, or even to summon a true glower. He was too tired. So all that he produced was a sort of dull, dead glance. He didn't want to admit the effort it had taken to simply stand.

"You two must go together. One more second in this room and you'll shower together."

Harry started to run out, having learned the hard way that Hades wasn't joking when he said such things.

"Too late. Go on. Do it," Hades said, reclining on the bed, hands behind his head, eyes closed and a smile twisting his lips. "Same time in the same shower, no clothes, no less than twenty minutes. No excuses."

Harry, angry even though it wasn't really Malfoy's fault, snatched his wrist and dragged him out of the room forcefully. Hades had covered any options of escape, every loophole.

Dragging Malfoy was more like dragging a balloon. It was easy, too easy. He seemed to weigh nothing, and it felt like his wrist would snap if Harry so much as moved too quickly.

"Why did you have to question him?" Harry snapped, somewhat unfairly. "Now we have to…damnit, Malfoy, can't you control your temper?"

Malfoy, trying unsuccessfully to free himself, scowled back, blinking as if struggling to keep a focus on his face. "You know what, Potter, you—you…"

Whatever he was going to say was lost when they reached the large bathroom, and Malfoy's head suddenly seemed to fill up with air, or blood, his body filling with liquid lead. Dark splotches appeared before his eyes and he lost. He'd held out for so long, but he'd lost.

A/N: Sorry for the wait, by the way. Damn fanfic writers, having lives. What are they thinking? To my wonderful reviewers that review just about every chapter, thank you very much. To the rest of you, stop reading the story and not reviewing, ya moochers. If I don't get reviews, I won't make time and update, as has just happened, and the chapters get shorter. Simple truth. Because I love writing, but it's like, well, if people aren't reading them, then I definitely have other things I could be doing (this is what I'm going to do for a living and I'm in the middle of writing something that I'm going to publish if it kills me ((has no shame)) ). And for the last time, I really can't see the links you give me to other sites, which is very frustrating (though I appreciate that you're taking the time to help me out, I do). So, all of that said, please review, and Happy Easter. I do love that I'm posting this chapter on a major religious holiday, I'm quite aware of the irony.


	8. Hero Complex

A/N: Stuff. Thanks. Disclaimers. Effort.

Harry watched Malfoy's eyes flutter, and realized something was very wrong. He caught Malfoy just as he began to fall, on reflex.

"Hey! Hey, wake up, you stupid aristocrat!" Harry demanded, surprised and bewildered. In his arms, Malfoy was warm in a sort of feverish way, and completely limp. Harry's arms were around his back and middle, trying to prop him upright. Gods, he was so frail.

"What do you think you're doing?" Harry said awkwardly. "Falling asleep? This isn't your freaking mansion, Malfoy! Wake the fuck up!"

There was no response, not even a whispered retort.

"I'm not carrying you," Harry muttered, and laid him on the cool black tile of the floor. He checked for a pulse, and though there was a faint response, the skin felt cooler than it should have been. Was skin supposed to feel like that? Was he _dying_? The lack of color, the slight hardness to his skin, seemed alien and…

"Stay there. I'm getting you some food," Harry promised, "you lazy prat!" he felt compelled to add, disappearing around the corner. Had he been holding out this whole time? If it wasn't hunger that made him so pathetic and bony, then he had no idea what it was. Did he have sort of medical condition? Harry had no idea whatsoever, trying to remember back to Hogwarts. Starvation was definitely the most likely reason, this was certain.

Harry reached the still open door of Hades' room and said hurriedly, "Hades, please, something's wrong with Malfoy. He needs food, I think. I mean—I think he might be dying."

"It's quite likely," Hades agreed from where he lay, eyes still closed, and completely unperturbed. "Such a thing tends to happen when mortals don't eat for so very long."

"Can I get him some food, then? Please?" Harry felt like the world was moving too slow. Hades was maddeningly calm about this, in no hurry to do anything about it.

"Yeah, sure. I don't see why _you_ care, but go into the kitchens. Sariad and Ranvir will be in there. Just tell them to get you some food."

"Thanks," Harry said, forgetting for a split second how much he hated saying that word to Hades.

"And don't get too much," Hades called after him. "Dying or no, his stomach is not large enough for a feast at this point."

(A/N: When people don't eat for a long while, their stomach's actually shrink, and eating large amounts of food, especially fast, is actually not a good idea and will make you sick)

Harry didn't answer, for he was running through the white halls for the kitchens. White halls, white to emphasize the crimson liquid when it spattered it. Harry knew from experience. Perhaps Malfoy never would. White wasn't nearly as pure as people thought. It was beginning to give him shivers just looking at the spotless color. Cold and unreachable, white was the color of death. All it did was make the crimson spatters all the more bright, stark against the lies underneath.Why was he thinking about this?

Time was doing its tauntingly slow dance, where images and facts were surreally clear and he could not talk fast enough. Why he cared so much, hell if he knew. Certainly not for the sake of Malfoy. What did he care for spoiled rich boys?

Maybe for the sake of preserving, saving something. For the sake of one less corpse to dispose of, one less death. It was as though if Malfoy died, it would be confirmed; there was nothing. Nothing left unbroken. Nothing left in his world. Nothing left _of _his worldSymbolic. Oh, dear. How terribly, terribly cliché. Or was that Hades' influence talking?

"Malfoy's fainted," Harry said, forcibly interrupting his scrambled thoughts, thoughts that got in his way. They were beginning to disturb him a little. "I think he might be dying. I need food for him. I have Hades' permission, so please, whatever food you have, some water."

"A moment," Sariad promised, her silvery-blue hair tied off in a low ponytail to keep it from her face. There were red, raw marks where the rope binding her wrists had been, which flashed at Harry as she reached for whatever food she could find. She still moved with a strange grace, as though she was swimming, or dancing, but not merely walking.

Ranvir turned to Harry, the skin of his face soft and spiced a golden-brown with small lines intersecting and faint, dark pools underneath his eyes; honey eyes that looked golden in the start of the sunset. There was still a hardness to him, and the light only shed clarity upon it. "Are you so sure he'll let you?"

"I have to–what?" Harry stopped. "What are you saying? I already got Hades' permission."

"Merely talking to myself," Ranvir said softly, and turned his back on him to continue grating a hunk of cheese. "Go to him, then. Here."

Ranvir handed him a piece of cheese. Between the two of them, he was given bread for energy, cheese and a slice of dried, salted meat for strength, and a glass (no other containers had been found) of water for life, finished Sariad, who seemed strangely at peace with the situation, as though assured of the best. Then Harry had thanked them and ran back to kneel at the tiled floor where Malfoy still lay, breathing so shallow and skin so pale.

_I know. Cliché or not…I'm so sick of death and watching things die. Just once, I want to save something. See if I can. Even if it's this asshole. I want to know that not everything has to die, and I can do something about it. And I don't want the last piece of my life, regardless of what it is, to die. _

Harry stared at Malfoy, and his thoughts changed to more practical matters. He had no time for that. _I wonder if slapping him again would help…_he thought wryly.

"Do it!" Hades called encouragingly from the bedroom.

Harry had to suppress the obscene urge to laugh. There was no way that had been a coincidence. But demon or no, Hades had never been wrong on the facts. He was going to have to trust him, the irony of which he could save for another day.

Harry forgot about hurting him and slapped him again with all of his strength, turning Malfoy's head with its force and stinging Harry's own hand once again. The sound did echo this time, in the confined walls of the bathroom.

"Wake up, you snot-nosed bastard! Come on!" Harry shouted, and Malfoy's eyes cracked open, focusing on the figure above him.

**Draco's POV **

"What…what the fuck are you doing?" he groaned, voice rasping, cheek pulsating. It was too bright. It was blinding. He was so sick of the damn light. He'd been welcoming the black obliterating the world, obliterating the constant, nagging, aching pull of his empty stomach. Obliterating everything. "You crazy bastard. Get away from me…" Unfortunately, he didn't have the energy to come up with anything better. He didn't even have the energy to put the malice in the words that he'd intended. Instead, they came out weak and hoarse.

In reply, something cool and fluid wet his parched tongue. A second later, a small stream of the stuff splashed into his mouth. Some of it missed his mouth by a bit, trickling down his throat in a slow path to his collarbone. It was gathering, pooling directly into his throat, causing him to swallow, throat convulsing in order not to drown in less than an inch of water. But he hadn't been ready for this; he was lying down, and it was thoroughly unwanted.

**Harry's POV**

As Harry let the water flow in a small, unsteady stream into Malfoy's mouth, he began to cough, choking on the water, the cough wracking his thin body.

"Stop!" Malfoy spluttered, turning his face to the side. The water didn't stop, but continued to splash the side of his face.

"Sit up," Harry said. "Come on. I'll dump this on you if you don't."

"You already are!" Draco rasped in between coughs. He didn't get up, and it took Harry a moment to realize he might not be acting stubborn. He might not be able to sit up at all.

Harry grasped Draco by the shoulders, struck by how delicate they seemed. Had they been trying to kill him? Had he been starving, perhaps slowly, with his former master, and had been too stubborn to admit this to Harry? He couldn't help but wonder. After all, it was this famous curiosity that had always gotten him into trouble back at Hogwarts.

Harry paused, setting the glass down. He shifted positions, gently lifting Draco so he could sit up. Draco didn't sit up on his own, limp and humiliated at being found this weak. Harry propped him up against the wall, having to rearrange him a few times because he kept slipping down.

Draco grew tired of this and drew on everything he had left (which was very little indeed) to sit up. Not very well, but better than lying on the floor drowning in less than an inch of water.

"Here," Harry said, offering him a small hunk of the sourdough bread. "It's from Sariad. Nothing's been done to it. Just take it!" he exclaimed when Draco only stared at him.

"Damnit, Potter," Draco said, staring to the side, not up to the usual scathing tone of voice or scowl. His voice was still hoarse and thinner than usual, quieter. "No one asked you to save me."

"If this is about pride, don't be stupid. It's not like I'm doing you any favors," he said with a wry smile.

"Yeah, no shit," Draco said, and this time his voice was filled with a bitterness that he hadn't been able to stop. He didn't have the energy. "That's my point. Your hero days are over, Potter. Stop trying to save everyone."

The remark stung more than Harry would like to admit. Colour rose to his cheeks. "I figured that out all on my own, _thanks_. It's not like I asked you to grovel or anything. Just eat the damn bread."

Draco's eyes made the long journey back to Harry's, but they were surprisingly devoid of anger. They made Harry's stomach do a strange sort of leap, the room suddenly a little colder, a little more unfamiliar.

"Who made you into a god?" Draco said softly, dull eyes boring into Harry's. His face had slipped beyond anything Harry had ever seen, utterly frightening but not menacing. "Who said you could decide whether someone lives or dies?"

Stunned, Harry stared back, at a complete loss for words. He'd never seen this expression on Draco's face before. No, he realized. That _was_ Draco's face. This was what had always been behind all of those other expressions, but for how long, he had no idea. It was somehow terrifying; raw and bare, there was nothing left to hide, no need to. There was just nothing left. No hope. No happiness. Those dull eyes were utterly flat, gray pits that lacked life and purpose. Everything about him "lacked". It was the absolute bottom. He had nothing left to lose, literally.

Harry couldn't face that chilling truth and find an argument. He couldn't look upon that face and fight blindly, like they always had. He hadn't known a face could be so stripped of everything, a wasteland that bared everything, completely apathetic of what anyone thought or what happened to him.

_Who made you into a god. Who said you could decide whether someone lives or not. _

Draco rested his head against the wall, closing his eyes. The effort of sitting up and keeping his eyes open had been exhausting. His head was spinning.

"You don't have…anyone you want to see again?" Harry asked, feeling like his words were falling short of Draco and he was speaking to himself.

Draco said nothing. He was slipping, and drifting away into some sort of sleep.

"Hey!" Harry said, heart pounding. He caught him, and moved them more into the middle of the room. He tried to get him to sit up, trying to avoid slapping him across the face again.

But now he had to know. He had to do something first. And this was the only thing he knew how to do.

"…God!" Draco exclaimed, blinking. "What the hell is wrong with you? Do you get off on hitting me or something?"

But he sat up.

"So don't fall asleep while I'm talking to you," Harry said sharply. "No one you want to see again? No friends? Your mother? Your father?"

Draco stared at him, surprise, maybe, on his face. He either lost his balance, or simply fell forward because he felt like it, because he was clutching at the fishnet fabric of Harry's shirt—which he was still wearing, because Hades hadn't given him permission to take it off—and half in his lap. His head was bent low, shoulders shaking, and short nails scratching at Harry's chest as his fingers convulsed.

If he was sobbing, Harry _really_ didn't know how to deal with him. Even less than he already did. Completely baffled, Harry was still. Draco was saying something, but he couldn't hear him.

Harry bent his head. "Uh…what?"

"Lucius. That's rich. Stay alive for him," Draco said, laughing.

Harry, still bewildered, noted that the laughter was strangely hollow. There was no mirth to it.

"Sorry…I thought you liked him," Harry said awkwardly. Gods, he was in so far above his head. If it was water he would be drowning.

Draco's laughter grew, swelling to fill the bathroom. "Ohhh. It's too perfect!"

"Draco…" Harry gave up. He didn't deal with loons. Or people that needed this much help. "What the hell is so goddamn funny, you lunatic?!"

"Never mind," Draco said, sitting up with a bright smile. It filled his whole face, baffling Harry even further. "Why the hell would you understand? I wouldn't expect you to."

"No," Harry said, refusing to let it go. It was pissing him off. Maybe because he'd seen the face under the other layers of expressions, and that the others could be displayed so easily, like masks…he didn't know and had no time or patience to ponder why. "How the hell am I supposed to understand?! You haven't told me anything, and I've only ever fought with you! I'm not a psychic, goddamnit."

"Hm," Draco said, a small noise that could have meant anything. "Let me try, first. You're just doing this because of your hero complex, and—"

"Come of it! You tell me that no one made me into a god or whatever, but you're making plenty of assumptions, too. I _don't_ have a 'hero complex' and I _don't_ understand because you've barely said anything at all!" Harry snapped. Draco hadn't moved, still holding to his skin-tight shirt. "I don't know why I did it. Okay? I just did. I didn't think about it."

"So you had some inspirational words for me, then?" Draco asked, amused. "Or do I need to spell it out for you? Here, I'll make it easy."

Draco lifted his head, and with a strange smile, he said slowly and clearly, "I don't want to live."

Harry stared down, waiting to see if he would say more.

"I'm not one of those people who attempts suicide because it's a goddamn cry for help," Draco said scathingly. "Don't you _dare _put me in the same category as some angsty teenager who just needs the opportunity to whine and sob about their mediocre life. I was going to die, the end. I had my plan, it was going just fine. Which would be the reason why I didn't tell anyone. I didn't _mean_ to faint in this bathroom. I sure as fuck didn't want you to save me. I was trying to kill myself."

Harry exhaled, and said after a moment, "I get that now, thanks loads. But how was I supposed to know? Masters starve their slaves all the time. Anyhow, you never said a thing, you never gave any hint that you were dying. And most people, when they want to die, don't do something as slow as starvingthemselves. I know I'm stupid, but it just wasn't that obvious."

Draco just stared up at him. "Now you know. Unfortunately. And you can go back to your attempt to talk me out of it and give me some inspirational words. Then I can go back to what I was doing and you'll be rid of me. Nice, clean ending for the little story."

A/N: Usual apologies for the wait, but thanks so much to the lovely people who reviewed. Hope you enjoyed it.


	9. Go Kill Yourself

Harry scowled, resisting the urge to punch him. "Gods, you are _such_ a prick!"

"Go ahead," Draco said with what was almost his old smirk. "Go on."

"Fuck you," Harry dismissed angrily. "You can slit your wrists for all I care."

Draco took a moment, and then a delighted smile crept onto his face. "Well, that must have been your attempt. Glad to see you've still got your temper, Potter. And now come the words of brilliance and wisdom."

"I'm touched you assume I have any," Harry said, still hostile. "However sarcastic you may be."

Harry met his eyes and smiled, and it felt a little cruel. It was not a pleasant smile. "If you didn't have a reason to live before you came here, then you sure as hell won't have one now. And if you weren't actively suicidal before you came here, Hades will remedy that. I don't know if all demons are like him, but he's beyond any creature we've ever met. Voldemort is Gandhi compared to Hades." He stopped, unsure as to whether Draco would get the reference. He seemed to, so Harry continued. "Voldemort is a little fluffy kitten compared to Hades. You couldn't have a worse master. Your life will become a nightmare, and you will never wake up. You will heave the mutilated corpses of people you had seen alive and well the day before. Whatever you thought pain was, you were wrong. It was nothing…_nothing,_" Harry vowed, "compared to what he can bring you.

"You want a reason to live? You won't find one here. I'm fresh out of inspirational words. This is a world of darkness that only those within could possibly comprehend. You will spill more blood here, and witness more spilt, then you would in countless lifetimes. This is a bloody nightmare, beyond anything you have ever experienced, and it will follow you into your dreams. You are never going to wake up."

Draco was momentarily silent, the expressions flitting over Harry's face frighteningly intense.

"No, I was right to assume. That was downright poetic, Potter. You should get that on paper."

"Go kill yourself!"

Draco grinned. "No…no, I don't think I will. Sorry, Potter. I'm too bloody inspired."

Harry looked down at him, a little too bewildered to be properly sharp.

"Anyway, I can always do it later," Draco said, enjoying the expression of complete bewilderment on Harry's face. "This place is too interesting. I'm not ready to snuff it just yet."

"Oh, get off of me!" Harry said, turning away. The colour was rising to his face, though he had no idea why. "Eat your food, then! Like I care."

"I will, I will," Draco said cheerfully, leaning against Harry and reaching for the hunk of bread.

"What are you doing? Get off of me, you goddamn poof."

"I'm too weak. I couldn't possibly sit up," Draco said mildly, taking a bite of bread to hide his grin.

"You just like to make me suffer!" Harry exclaimed. "You haven't changed at all. You just like confusing the fuck out of me!"

"Oh, yes," Draco agreed, chewing his bread. "It's better than Quidditch."

"You're so _bloody _odd!" Harry said passionately. "How can you just—what kind of reason is that to live?! First you're passing out on his floor, and then…gods, I don't understand you."

"Well, I figure I really don't have anything left to lose," Draco said reasonably. "So why should I have a solid reason?"

"You're mad," Harry muttered.

"Maybe. Aren't you?"

"Oh, we're all mad here," Harry quoted with a small smile. His smiles never lasted, and this one was no exception.

"So what makes you any different?" Draco asked, munching on the last of the bread. His mouth was so dry that he had had to finish the water first. "What're you doing, still alive?"

"You say these things so casually," Harry mumbled. "What is this to you, a game?"

"It's the only way I know how. If you want me to gaze soulfully up into your eyes while I say it, then forget I asked."

Harry shook his head. He tried to think of an off-hand answer, or something sarcastic. Even a real answer. But he had nothing.

"I have no idea. He doesn't try and stop us, far as I know. Several other slaves have already killed themselves here," Harry said. He had never had anyone to talk to before. Except for Hades.

"You don't have anyone you want to live for?" Draco said, just a touch of mocking in his tone. "No reasons? No hopes?"

"None," Harry said shortly. He stood abruptly, pushing Draco off of him. "You still have to shower, you know. He couldn't care less that you were dying."

Draco eyed him, calculating. Harry couldn't read the expression further than that. Harry's face reddened, and he turned away, finding a towel. "I'll go get you some fresh clothes," he muttered.

Harry walked out as quickly as he could without running, trying not to think about this. Damn him! Not only was he confusing as all hell, but he brought up things that Harry really, really did not want to think about. He didn't want to know why he was still alive. He didn't want to know because he was afraid he already knew. And it was an obscene reason. It was ludicrous. It was horrible. He wasn't going to think on it. He wasn't going to confirm anything. Just wasn't. Wouldn't. Just walk.

"Hades," Harry said, voice sounding odd to his ears. "Are there any fresh clothes for Dr—Malfoy?"

He wished that Hades didn't always have to notice every little thing that he said. He hadn't meant to choke on his name.

"No," Hades said with a smile that Harry didn't like. But then, he had learned by past experiences not to like any of Hades' smiles.

"Please," Harry said, weary. "Just some clothes."

"What's the point? My lunch doesn't need clothes yet," Hades told him, looking over a large book that was entitled _The Inferno_. It was in Italian—Harry had picked it up yesterday to attempt to read it—and the cover depicted a scene from Hell, one of the old murals. "He's just going to have to get rid of them anyhow."

"I thought…you're going to," Harry couldn't get the sentence out. His throat had closed up, for some reason. He tried again. "You're going to rape him?"

"My dear Harry, I am an incubus," Hades reminded him. "I feed from blood and flesh, but I also feed from all things sexual."

"Wha…you never once mentioned this," Harry said flatly. "Not once."

Hades appeared to be reading while he spoke, unperturbed. "Really? How dastardly of me."

Harry seethed inwardly. How pathetic. He really didn't know anything about Hades, after nearly a year. "So…that's why you…"

"Why I what?" Hades asked disinterestedly.

He knew exactly what.

"Why you fuck me," Harry said, face burning. "Because I'm food."

Hades' eyes flicked up briefly. "Don't be ridiculous. I enjoy it."

"But it keeps you alive."

"No. I don't have to feed that often."

Harry's eyes burned into the part of his master's face that was not obstructed by the book. Hades looked up, able to feel the intensity of the gaze. The hatred was palpable, at its nice, safe, distance. The demon was amused.

"I'm immortal, Mr. Potter," Hades said matter-of-factly, the barest of smiles gracing his features. "You can glare at me with death in your eyes for as long as you like. I will never die. You will never be able to kill me."

Harry turned away, hating that Hades could always read every single thought or emotion that crossed his mind. Loathing that he was right.

"Go back to your suicidal aristocrat…sorry, formerly the suicidal aristocrat. Go bathe my slave," Hades ordered, back to his book.

Harry turned on his heel, ashamed and angry. He could barely think, blurring past the walls with long, curt strides. He had been perfectly matter-of-fact; courteous even. Everything Hades had said was pure fact. That didn't stop him from wanting to dismember him, somehow. And somehow, no one but Hades had the ability to bring out such emotions in him. He always said exactly what hurt most, exactly what would upset him the most. And then, all of his common sense would fold away and he would be blinded.

"You don't get any," Harry said tightly, shoving aside the curtain.

"Why not?" Draco said, looking up from the last scrap of food. He didn't seem overly concerned. Naturally, he had not started on the shower.

This irritated Harry further. "You're just going to have to take them off anyhow," he said, in a snide reproduction of Hades' words.

"What? What's your problem?" Draco asked, frowning. "So sorry I spoiled your happiness by deciding to live, but get over it."

Harry shook his head. "You aren't taking this seriously. You aren't listening."

**Draco's POV**

Draco looked up finally. "Taking what seriously?"

"Get in the goddamn shower," Harry half-snarled. "His meals have to be clean."

Draco stood, shoving aside the tilting, airy world. He had to concentrate. "Christ, Potter, what—"

"Christ? You've never lived around muggles, you're a bloody Malfoy."

Draco could see the muscles of Harry's back through his thin shirt, and everything about him was tense, tight and angry. There were marks through the black that he seemed to have temporarily forgotten about. He wouldn't look at Draco.

"So what? It's a good expression," Draco said, approaching him. He wanted a better look at his back. "Remind me, what the hell is wrong with you?"

Harry more spun than turned to face him, eyes flashing, face taut and angry. "You! I don't give a fuck about your apathy! This isn't something you can brush off! You're acting like you can handle it, like…I don't know, but it's pissing me off!"

"Not everyone deals with their problems by spitting in people's faces, Potter," Draco said with a small smirk. "Does it bother you that some people may have aged past seven when it comes to maturity? Gods, you're a spaz."

Harry turned away, handed him a bar of scented soap. "Go wash."

The words were short, the kind of tone that lets you know that the owner of the voice is doing all that he can to repress everything behind them.

"Sure. Get out," Draco said in a reasonable tone.

"_I can't_," Harry said through gritted teeth. "If he says that I have to wash with you, then I do."

"Mmm, no thanks," Draco said, a pleasant smile across his pale face. "I'm not really into boy whores."

He wasn't expecting the punch, though. It was there too fast for him to react, suddenly he was seeing the world at an angle. The force of it had snapped his head back, the fist connecting solidly with his jaw.

"Don't ever say that again. Don't underestimate Hades and don't overestimate me, you dirty son of a bitch."

"Yeah? I see the way you look at him. You do every single thing he tells you to. You look like one, too. Look at yourself. I'm not the dirty one," Draco said with relish, touching his jaw. His fingers came away sticky, but not dripping. "You want to fight? Come on."

Except Draco was nearly half the weight a boy of his age and height should have been, and wasn't in any condition to fight. So it was no surprise that it was he the one who was thrown to the smooth obsidian beneath their calloused feet. The impact momentarily dazed him, though in a brilliant stroke of luck, his head landed on the burgundy material that guarded the floor outside of the shower. It still hurt, but it cushioned the blow. For someone as lean as Harry, he was surprisingly strong.

"Fucking…are you trying to kill me?!" Draco said hoarsely, trying to focus on Harry's face. He couldn't move, trapped beneath Harry and not recovered yet from the attack. "If this thing hadn't been here, I would probably be dead! You would be scrubbing my goddamn _brains_ from this floor! Are you mad?!"

Harry's teeth were tightly pressed together, face tight and drawn. There were small caves of darkness under his eyes, which were the only aspect of his face that held any light or vitality at all. They burned an unhealthy, oddly washed-out green. Compared to the more than half-deceased Draco he looked positively healthy, but Draco vaguely recalled that he had once had a permanent tan, from spending so much time outdoors. Not anymore.

"Does it hurt? Are you in pain?" Harry said, frightening and nearly feral. His hands were grinding Draco's wrists into the ground. The intensity of every bit of him was too much to comprehend for Draco.

Draco stared up, helpless to do anything else, thrown off completely. Not in their worst fights had he ever seen this side of his rival. It was frightening, especially since he clearly wasn't trying to be. It was like he had completely lost all sense and sense of barriers. People who have nothing left to lose—who have had everything ripped from them one by one—are the most terrifying of all. Draco Malfoy hadn't seen it before, but he saw it now: Harry Potter was one of these people.

"Potter?" Draco said uncertainly, because it seemed as though some other creature was wearing his skin. For a moment, he was truly asking, are you really Harry Potter? is this a mistake?

Harry removed one hand from Draco and ran it over his face, taking a moment to breathe in the scent of his skin. It was like wiping a slate, and had nearly the same result. He sat up so that as opposed to completely looming over the starving boy in a sort of half-pushup, he was sitting on the very start of his thighs. Then his face was calmer, more composed. It hadn't relaxed, but it had lost the quality that had made Draco question its very identity.

"Well, if it does, you deserved it," Harry muttered. Their usual banter was so much safer, much easier to make sense of. Familiar. "I hope you have a concussion, you rat-bastard."

"Not a chance," Draco said, subconsciously relieved that that face was gone, shrinking back into Harry somewhere forbidden and frightening. "A headache, yes, but no further."

"Too bad," Harry said, still trying to hold himself together.

"You know, you aren't exactly reversing my point," Draco said, his malicious smile returning. He was a little sadistic this way. He was great at angering people and verbally sparring. He was even better at going too far.

A/N: Isn't Draco a bastard? I kind of love him, hehe. Review and I will kind of love you, too.


	10. Sanctuary

A/N: Gah, I can't remember if I replied to the last reviews or not. If I didn't, then I'm sorry, and I appreciate them. Enjoy your oddness.

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"What are you, a nymphomaniac? You come straight from your master, and then your old enemy is the nearest piece of meat. Straddling a starving boy that you've been yearning to throttle since that first year? That is low, Potter."

"Yeah? Want me to show you something? Let you in on a little secret?" Harry's smile was disturbing, neither happy nor amused, yet broad and genuine. His eyes were burning again, flashing in the light. Draco couldn't help it. Making him so emotional, so fierce, was addicting. It was fascinating. He'd never met anyone this intense.

"Oh, I already know you're a poof," Draco said, his smile very different. This was better than Quidditch. "Don't worry, times are changing. Except I'm not queer, so keep your pants on until we go and see your master."

In jerking, furious gestures, Harry unhooked his thumbs from the material, tore it over his head, and threw the fishnet shirt to the floor in a darkened, confused heap.

"You don't listen well, do you?" Draco mused. So he was looking. So what. It was a damn nice chest.

Harry climbed to his feet, face dangerous, and turned his back on Draco. His arms were folded against his chest. He hated displaying himself, but the anger overrode even that. He couldn't think, wild only with the need to prove him wrong, win one goddamn argument, hurt him.

Draco's smile that was more of a smirk than anything froze in place. His eyes were the only thing that moved or changed. They widened, taking in the sight of his back. From below the nape of his neck to just above the hollow that signaled the end of his back, it was a mess. Dull, smooth bone gleamed white as it caught the light, and deep, angry gashes flashed raw. They were spattered all over the expanse of his skin. It was a sight to elicit goosebumps and chill the mind.

Draco took a moment to lick his dry lips and try and think. It wasn't from a whip, he knew that much. Wounds from whips could certainly be deep, but this was the work of some sort of blade. It was cleaner, more precise, in a perverse sort of way. Whips did not have this kind of control.

"He did this," Harry said tersely, as though daring him to make light of it. His next words were tight and clear, in quick succession. "I do not like him. Let's leave it at that."

"Let's not," Draco said, before he could stop himself. He'd never been good at dealing with victims. "What did he do it with?"

"His claws," Harry said stiffly.

Draco made the attempt to sit up. Maybe Harry knew a little more than he had given him credit for. Maybe a lot more.

"Well, that's sick," Draco remarked without any tangible sign of compassion.

Harry turned, and his face was different again. It was colder, now. Completely collected, and utterly hostile in a blank, icy way. "Don't."

Draco sighed without meaning to. "Look. I take it back. I misjudged the situation. I was stupid, okay?"

"Is that an apology? Could it be the spoiled one from the holy line of arrogant uptight bastards is attempting to give the lowly peasant words of regret?" Harry asked witheringly.

Draco's mouth twitched, though he knew he had to remain serious. "Yes. I don't do it often."

"I'm so grateful," Harry said scathingly, turning around. He turned on the shower with a stiff gesture. The spray of water was immediate, precisely falling upon the flawless walls of the shower.

Ah. He was genuinely angry. Still. And with due cause.

With effort, Draco tried again. "I'm sorry."

The words came out serious and sincere, surprising both of them.

Harry didn't turn around. He grasped the glass bottle of shampoo resting on the edge of the bathtub, wrapping his fingers around it tightly, but Draco had seen the shiver. "You should have killed yourself."

Draco decided not to point out that he hadn't, either. He didn't know how to reply to that. "What did you do to warrant the, uh, marks?"

"Take off your clothes," Harry said, reminding him of why they were there in the first place. He hesitated, and then said, "It's what he does."

"For fun?" Draco asked, and his voice was deceptively level.

"Yes," Harry said, voice almost normal by now, but rose, slightly hysterical, with his next words, as though it were so obscene it was almost amusing. "If we do something 'wrong', we are punished. But mostly he just gets off on it. It's his hobby. It's his goddamn hobby. Some people go hiking. Hades cuts people up."

Draco saw the fine tremor running through Harry and decided now was not the time to delay further. He stood, head still airy, and had no trouble shrugging off his pants. They were all he had, disgusting and hanging from his flimsy body.

"So," Draco said softly. "He really does make use of the dungeon."

"You…have no idea," Harry said with a strange smile. "He's going to fuck you. He's fucked people to death before. I've—I've…" he stopped, throat closing up. His eyes were glittering, hands shaking uncontrollably. He felt like he was going to start screaming any second now, had to bite his lip to shut himself up.

He hated, hated, that he couldn't control himself. Hades may be a sick and twisted fuck, but he was right on one thing:

Harry James Potter was weak.

So incredibly vulnerable, unable to protect himself or lie or cope. No matter how hard he tried, he always ended up like this. He hated that Draco could be so calm, could laugh—albeit somewhat maniacally—at his own "brush" with death, and handle this all so naturally. He tried so hard, so incredibly hard, and he never seemed to get anywhere. Gods, he was practically sobbing!

He roughly removed the garments adorning his lower half. The metal of the straps clinked against the floor as they fell in a heap near to the discarded shirt. He gritted his teeth, disgusted with himself, and spat it out.

"I've seen it done."

Draco closed his eyes. No wonder he seemed so fucked up. He was every bit as fucked up and more. And it was no wonder. Gods.

"Saying that…it doesn't do it justice," Harry continued, talking quickly. He was talking now to get himself to keep from breaking down and screaming. He didn't want to say this. He didn't want to say this to anyone, but the words were spewing from his mouth, masking wordless and pathetic keening.

"From a nice, safe distance, where it's just words. You can't tell someone that. You can't just tell someone any of this. They can't imagine any of it. It's too much. There was a muggle…a mass murderer, really…Stalin. Joseph Stalin, he was the dictator of Russia. He killed thousands of his own people. No, millions. He said something like, 'one death is a tragedy. One million deaths is a statistic.'"

Harry was sure he was babbling now. No sense. He'd been talking for too long. But he really didn't want to start screaming. It already felt like someone was crushing his lungs, stealing his breath. It felt like the material beneath his feet might slip away and he would fall and fall and Hades would be there, too. He spoke faster. "That's kind of like how it is here. You can understand, or absorb, that Hades is a rapist. That's one term. But then there's so much more. There's the torture. The mind games. The beauty. He's a demon. It becomes too much to really comprehend, and to outsiders, it's a story. It's a horror story, and it's too much to be real. But we have to accept that it's real. We're forced to."

Harry stepped into the shower, leaving the curtain open. Water was collecting on the tiles nearest to the tub, but neither boy noticed.

Draco ran a hand through his hair. He hadn't just underestimated every bit of the situation; he had made light of it. That was how he tended to deal with what life dealt him, but it wouldn't work here, not right now. He wasn't any good at comforting anyone, never had been, but he could at least stop making things worse. He had probably been saying almost every word that would hurt Harry the most. This, he'd always been great at.

"I'm coming in," he said softly. The potential for teasing and banter, or fighting or awkwardness was gone. He didn't even think of anything but what Harry had just said. I've seen it done.

If he was the type to feel guilt, he would most definitely be experiencing it now.

Harry's POV

Harry let the warm water drown his face, shroud his tired body. If it was in his mouth like it was now, then he couldn't talk. He was afraid of what he would say, if it would be words at all. He'd already said so much. It had been far too much. He'd never done that before. But then, he'd only had Hades to speak to, these past months. It wasn't an excuse.

He heard Draco step in behind him and didn't care. There were moments when he felt everything so strongly, cared so much, and then there were blessed moments where he didn't care at all. He envied Malfoy. He envied his ability to be so goddamn ambivalent and casual and cool about everything. He'd seen the huge house of his new, terrifying master, and had said, "Not bad".

Harry was the exact opposite of him. He really was. Hot-headed and angry to Draco's cool and calculating insults. Emotional and weak to Draco's collected demeanor and surprising strength. It was no wonder they didn't get along.

But now, the water was shutting out the outside world. The shower, without Hades, could be a sort of sanctuary. Enclosed and safe from the outside and now surreal world, all that existed was warmth, water, and cleanliness. The pounding rhythm of the water to drown out thoughts. Hot water to soothe the bruises and cuts and aches, even when it stung. Even when he knew the water was falling on bared bone, gliding down the angry pinks and whites of older wounds and the healing reds and bone-white of yesterday's.

The scent of whichever soap existed there today (they seemed to change by the week, sometimes by the day, depending on what the master of the house's whims were then) and ruthless bristles to attempt to scrub away some of the filth. It never worked: Hades kept his slaves clean. The filth was something soap couldn't reach.

Harry held hands up to the spray of almost painfully hot water,

Now, he was cooling; breathing at last, shutting down. He had said something, done enough damage. And maybe, let just a little of it out. He was finally the matter-of-fact, uncaring person that he would have given anything to be countless times since he'd arrived. Or at least, a smidgen of his old self, a modicum of self control. The person he had truly needed to be only moments ago when he had been losing it. Around Malfoy, no less. The person that just never came at the right times.

"So how long have you been here," Draco said, penetrating the façade of the sanctuary that the shower pretended to be. It was a large shower, spacious enough for two people to easy move around in or bathe in.

"Ever since that night," Harry replied, and his voice was finally controlled, finally a normal speaking tone. Relief.

"Over a year," Draco clarified from somewhere behind him. Harry wasn't turning around to see him. Still, his voice was unreadable, completely free of anything one way or another.

"Really?" Harry realized he had been slumping, curled just a little against the wall and straightened. "I guess you lose track of time here."

When the two of them had finished washing, neither looking at the other—well, Draco might have been looking, but it was mostly at the rawness of his back—Harry began arranging the few bottles, the soap, cleaning up as he was accustomed to doing. Giving Hades an excuse for violence was something he tried to avoid.

"Hey, you want to hand me a towel?" Draco asked, standing on the deep red of the rather decadent bath mat. It was unbelievably soft beneath his calloused feet. "It's freaking cold."

Harry's head snapped up on instinct to answer and throw him the towel, and half-froze because he had forgotten that Draco was completely naked. He hadn't turned from the dark shower wall the entire time, hadn't seen him.

Harry's eyes followed the rivulets of water as they rolled down pale, almost pearlescent skin. Strengthening this thought, the light above caught the wet sheen to Draco's skin and made the droplets gleam like wicked jewels for a moment. He followed them down Draco's neck, down the cadaverous chest, down the long, pale legs, and irresistibly, between them.

Draco's sardonic voice awakened Harry, made him realize that he had forgotten the towel and more besides. He had most definitely been staring.

"Like what you see, Potter?"

The dry tone, completely free of arrogance, brought that damn flush to Harry's cheeks and his eyes flicked to the wall. With effort, he brought them back to Draco's face.

"I'm not into corpses, sorry," Harry said, finding solace in their old game. "I like my men with something more than bone and muscle."

Draco grinned anyway, and Harry had no idea whether it was genuine or not. Probably not. "That so? Do you usually look at corpses that way? I never pegged you for a necrophiliac, Harry, but I guess even I can be wrong."

"Come off it," Harry said, attempting to make light of it. "So what. You are—were, whatever—the Slytherin Sex God. You already know how you look. Thousands of people have probably told you how beautiful you are."

Draco was, for perhaps the first time, shocked into silence for a moment. He caught the large, fluffy towel Harry threw at him on reflex. Not one of them, he thought. Actually. Oh, he'd been called many things. Some of them "good". Drop dead sexy. A sex god. Gorgeous (with no real meaning behind it). Irresistible. But never beautiful. It seemed to fit in with the others words, and yet, something also set it apart. It was a foreign word on his lips.

"Probably," he said playfully.

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A/N: The plot thickens! To celebrate the end of dealing with the Something-Seriously-Enormous-and-Pointy-Up-Their-Asses-Who-Manage-The-Pit-of-Wantwits-and-Puppets-That-They-Call-School, I've been writing more on this story. Perhaps now I can actually post faster. Please do review and happy summer.


	11. Guilt

"Listen." Harry pulled him aside, gently closing the door to give them the façade of privacy. "Don't let your temper take you again. Okay?"

Draco gave Harry a withering look. He could control his emotions a thousand times better than Harry, and they both knew it.

"Well…don't struggle, okay?"

"He's not really going to eat me," Draco said, as more of a statement.

"I don't know," Harry said seriously, and Draco saw more truth than he wanted to in his eyes. "He's not very consistant. He will feed, though. I don't _think_ he'll kill you…but…"

Something else he had "seen done" flashed before him, Draco could almost see it himself.

"But sometimes he does," Draco finished, attempting tact, but fairly sure he wasn't quite making it.

"Yeah. So…just kind of lie there and endure it." Harry knew his words were less than reassuring and winced as they fell.

Draco sneered. "Lie back and think of England? I don't think so."

"I'm serious, Malfoy."

"Yeah, and it's pitiful advice, isn't it? Lie there while some loon eats me? I don't know, Potter."

"I do." Harry pushed back dark tendrils to reveal a mass of pink and white scars that spanned from collarbone to just below his ear. They were not fully healed. It looked as though he had gotten into a fight with a hungry beast and lost, and that was more or less what had happened.

"This is what happens when you struggle and you get lucky."

"Ah," Draco said, able to take him more seriously once again. It did make for a good argument. And he did need to survive this. That it was The Boy Who Lived to Have Emotional Outbursts' job to tell him this was a little sad.

"So…he really is a demon, then," Draco said, hoping to the gods Potter could tell him otherwise.

"Yeah, you know of them? I hadn't even heard of them until I met him," Harry said, a little surprised. "Which is odd, because with something so powerful, so explicit, you would really think everyone would know of them."

"You would," Draco said carefully. _No, Potter, you really wouldn't. Naïve twit._

"So, how do you know of them?" Harry asked, and he seemed slightly wary, a little suspicious.

Draco decided that maybe Harry was a little shrewder than he had thought. Just a little. "I'd be a rather pathetic rich, stuck-up Slytherin if I didn't, wouldn't I?"

"You already are," Harry muttered, not satisfied by his explanation. "A suicidal sex slave? It doesn't get much lower."

"Except for a former savior of the wizarding world turned sex slave," Draco said cheerfully, flashing a bright, poisonous smile at Harry.

"Fuck you, you're about to be demon food," Harry said, caught between being offended and smiling at his audacity.

Draco's smile ended as though it had never existed, fake to begin with, and he was left pleasantly blank. "Then what are we stalling for?"

When they tentatively reached the door, Harry first, Hades seemed to have grown tired of waiting. He was almost fully clothed, save for his shirt, lying on his bed next to a slave girl. With his head propped up on one hand, head dangerously close to the girl, he did not seem to be hurting her. The girl, perhaps fourteen, fifteen, was clad in a long, blue-grey dress that pinned just below her shoulders. It was a surprisingly elegant dress with just visible gems upon a pale golden length that winked when she twitched, the cloth dipping down to reveal a flash of small, pale breasts as she clutched at her head. It was as though she was trying to shield herself from the words he was whispering, head bent so that he was mere inches away. Her legs were tucked to her chest, though she made no sound.

Without thinking, Harry said, "Hades. Hades, we're here."

Because the sight of him and that girl was chilling, in an entirely different way than those involving blood and flesh. Harry wanted to say anything to turn his attention away from her.

Hades barely turned his head. His voice came out low and unmasked with playfulness. "So you are."

Harry tried not to squirm under the weight of his gaze. Were his eyes a little brighter? A little less human? "Did you not…"

"Yes. You may leave, Freida."

The girl gladly gathered her limbs, and with one last haunted glimpse, ran from the room so fast that Harry had to hastily drag Draco out of the way to avoid a collision. Tears streaked from her hazel eyes, made greener from crying.

"Feeling better, Draco?"

Harry was reminded of a large cat, one of the majestic animals that he had once seen at one of the visits to the Muggle zoo with the Dursley's. It had stared out of impassive eyes, peaceful with the fact that it had all the time in the world: peaceful with the knowledge that it could rip you apart and that you were the prey and it was not.

"Yes…" Draco had to resist the urge, shutting his mouth shut firmly. What a conditioned and familiar response: Yes, Father.

"Yes…_Hades_."

He had mimicked the pause perfectly, but what caught Draco's attention was that it was almost exactly like…but why, why would a demon resemble him? Ah…yes, there was that. And that.

"Yes, Hades," Draco said obediently. Mortified, he looked away. Gods, he _was_ conditioned.

"Come here, Draco."

Draco straightened, moving before he remembered where he was. It did not sit well with him, and he had to make sure that his scowl did not show. _Why_ did Hades resemble _him_, of all the people in the world?

Hades' unnaturally still eyes flicked to Harry. "Get out, Harry."

Harry had to refrain from taking a step back. Was this another face of Hades? Something that was underneath the laughter and the playfulness?

Another greater care overtook him. He was used to this. But what he wasn't used to was the last shred of his former life being further torn. Not Malfoy. He was a bastard, but he did not deserve this. Besides, Harry couldn't _leave_ the room, couldn't sit there wondering what Hades was doing to him now, or deciphering the noises. He would never forgive himself.

"No," Harry said quietly, heart pounding in that way that said he was surely doing something very regrettable and spontaneous. "Stop…stop touching him!"

Hades had pulled Draco up to the bed, a hand to his cheek. Draco would not look at his, cheeks rather red. He was silent, apparently taking Harry's advice. He glared at Harry, unable to shake his head, but giving him an incredulous look.

Hades' hand slid to his neck, and then up the run slender fingers through pale hair. Still caressing Draco's hair, he said quietly, "So fragile."

"Don't," Harry said, but it was a little less angry, because it was making him ill.

"He is mine." Hades' tone was the same, soft and silken. "You dare challenge me?"

The first rush of fear hit Harry, and he wanted nothing more than to turn around right now and leave. "I…"

"Are you out of your fucking mind? Get out of here!" Draco hissed.

"If you're thinking of bargaining, I've made up my mind," said the demon languidly. "So don't even think of sacrificing your noble flesh, because you are both mine, rightfully mine, and I will do as I please."

Harry's face contorted, unable to turn away and leave. "But…"

"Listen, Potter," Draco said flatly, looking him straight in the eye. It took him a moment to speak. "There are some things you can't save."

"I can't just leave you!" a wave of pure, unbelievable frustration hit him. "Hades, _please_! Why do you always do this? Why do you have to be like this?"

Hades seemed to ignore him, pulling down one sleeve of Draco's shirt and lightly nipping at the flesh. Draco shivered, but made no sound. Hades' did not look at Harry, fully distracted. "If you want to watch, then by all means…"

Harry shook his head, hands balling into fists. He felt his face heat with anger, and snapped, "Of course not!"

"Then leave," Hades said, speaking against Draco's flesh. "Unless you would rather I decide to make you."

"Get…out!" Draco ground out.

Harry didn't trust himself to speak, and left in a blur of shame and pure frustration. He barely noticed when he reached another room, so blinded was he. All he could see was the two of them, demon and wizard.

With a cry of frustration, he kicked the door. It slammed shut, solid and final. He didn't make it to the bed, just sat down in the middle of the wooden floor with his head lowered, held tight with his hands.

He wanted to scream, and the only thing that stopped him was the knowledge that Draco was being more mature than him. Draco, at least for now, for Malfoy seemed absurdly petty to call him now. They were no longer in Hogwarts, and Draco was at Hades' mercy. Surnames seemed childish and far away.

What made Harry feel even more childish was that Draco had been calmer than he; no easy task when confronted by Hades in any situation. Draco had accepted it, had been the one to tell Harry to get out, that he could not save everything.

Another noise escaped Harry, and his fist slammed into the wooden floor. The floor was fine for it, but the wizard's fist throbbed with the force of the blow.

"I know I can't save everything!" Harry was spitting the words, hot tears cascading down his face. Again, his fist connected with the floor. "I just wanted to save one thing! Just _once_!"

Though one lost track of time inside Hades' house, it was night, or technically morning. It was dark out, that much Harry knew. He hadn't been sleeping well—somehow—and it was very late, but he didn't sleep.

Draco came out alive. Ironically, that had been the least of Harry's worries, though it had been a real possibility.

He had walked past Harry as though he did not so much as exist. Draco could not walk as straight as he normally would, or as fast, but he could walk. This was not always the case with Hades' victims.

"Draco!" Harry called, though Draco was only several feet past him. The sight of him brought Harry's panic-like guilt back instantly. His grey eyes seemed to take in very little, inanimate. His face showed nothing at all, and that in itself was frightening, more noticeable than the bruises, the blood. The only thing that was worse were his legs: they were mostly untouched, saved for the blood running down them.

"Don't look at me," he said flatly, and kept walking.

Stopping Harry from slightly illogical apologies, Hades called, "Harry."

For once, Harry went willingly. An immense guilt had settled into him, and all he could see was Draco's tired, dead face. Something wrenched at his gut, sharp and immediate, and he had to take a moment to rebuild himself before taking that first step. If Hades wanted to hurt Harry, then it would be different. For this time, Harry was sure that he deserved it.

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A/N: Erm, so it turns out my summer was at least as busy as my school year. ((shrug)) Oh, well. I'll try, but I can't promise anything. Thanks so much to anyone who reviews. I will eventually reply…someday.


	12. Glass

A/N: One last chapter, to welcome in the new year of hall passes, homophobia, and having the living creativity pounded out of us. Ah, high school. Good old 10th circle of Hell.

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By the time he reached the door, Harry's face was glass: seemingly solid and unmovable yet inescapably transparent, it was prone to falling to pieces around Hades.

"Interesting boy, isn't he?" Hades remarked, sitting cross-legged at the head of the large bed. His hair fell in all of its ebony resplendence around him, slightly unkempt and all the more beautiful for it.

Harry said nothing. He couldn't summon the coherence right now.

"I like him," Hades confided. "I like that he's mine."

Just as he'd suspected. Just when it felt like nothing could affect his world, painted in shades of gray, Hades found just the right words, the perfect tone.

Harry's eyes were focused dully on the foot of the mahogany bed, refusing to meet his master's eyes. He didn't want to know how beautiful he was right now. He didn't want to look at him at all.

"You two have a past, don't you?" Hades continued, unaffected by the fact that the conversation was decidedly one-sided. "Adversaries at Hogwarts. I can see why; you two have absolutely nothing in common."

"How do you know that?" Harry asked, voice a nearly perfect monotone.

"You talk rather loudly."

Harry closed his eyes, already thinking. It was true. Of all the companions to join him from the past, it had been him. Practical and level-headed where Harry was childish and impulsive, Slytherin to his Gryffindor, aristocrat to his middle-class; even their hair colours were opposites. Of all of the people from his past.

"Remember _your_ first night with me?" Hades asked, penetrating Harry's train of thought.

Harry tried to be still, but inexplicably, his arm jerked. He remembered.

"Me, too," Hades said, a cheerful lilt to his voice, the bed rustling slightly as he rearranged himself.

"You were so brave!" Hades recalled. In the same breath, he said, "and so very, adorably, naïvely _stupid_."

Harry tried to drown Hades out. He did not want to hear a recount of that night. He didn't want to remember. He wasn't there, he wasn't there, he couldn't hear him…

"…and passionate. That's what I love about you, Harry. Gods know you're a waste of molecules, but you're so goddamn alive," Hades said with relish. "You know exactly what you want, and what's wrong and what's right, and what you won't do."

_And what you won't do. _That last did exactly as it was meant to: bring back images more lucid than Harry cared to admit.

Harry didn't see it, eyes still lowered, but he knew that Hades had leaned forward.

"And you wear your pitiful heart on both sleeves, always. I love it."

Hades' voice was taking on a dangerous tone. It was no longer a "friendly" conversation of mild tones. His voice had taken on a darker note, slightly wild with those last three words.

"Look at me," Hades demanded, and Harry saw the covers contract slightly where Hades' hands rested, as Hades crawled towards him.

Harry's lack of feeling, forged of glass, shattered with the abrupt jolt of his heart as it reminded him of just how quickly it could pump blood throughout his body.

Without thinking, Harry's head snapped up. He forgot that he had thought that he wanted to be punished. The guilt, for Draco, fled. Self-preservation was in its place, and it screamed at him to run, leave the room. He knew that look, knew what would come next.

He wanted to say anything, wished he had spoken earlier. Would it have kept Hades busy? Would it have prevented this?

"No, wait, Hades," Harry rushed, thinking as he spoke. He had no idea why Hades needed to wait. "I—I think that…"

"Yes?" Hades' eyes, painfully intense, stole the sound from Harry. He couldn't speak.

A hand tilted Harry's chin, demanding that he face him, and pulling him closer.

Half-sobbing with fear, Harry tried to say something. Anything, just the words, simply, _don't_. Distantly, he knew that Draco had not been like this, that he was being utterly pathetic, weak. But terror was rolling his senses, stopping his thoughts.

"What do you think?" Hades whispered, taunting him.

Harry managed a noise, and that was all. The hand gripped his jaw, jerking him closer.

It was stupid, so stupid, and all Harry thought in that moment was that Hades had never really kissed him before.

Just as the glass of apathy had shattered, so did his fear. But this was nothing like glass. This was something warm, like he'd never felt before. He'd never been allowed to kiss Hades before. Never been allowed anything that wasn't borne of terror, that wasn't forced.

The lips that caressed his seduced his fear. It was like drinking in liquor, as all thought and worry fled, as it warmed every inch of his body in the most delicious way. Hades was forcing nothing, had not even brought tongues into play. It was slow, utterly sensual, bringing with it the sighing sensation of drowning.

It wasn't forced. It wasn't magic. Harry's will was his own.

Separated by the wood of the bed, Harry still leaned into Hades. Hades gave him the chance to say no. He took away fear, but not with magic, not with force.

It was Harry that climbed up onto the bed, Harry that insisted through less than verbal means that they continue the kiss.

It was the first time that Harry had ever been permitted to touch his master's skin, in an act devoid of panic and fear. Just running his hands over the warm, heated skin of Hades' back would have caused him to sigh if Hades hadn't stolen his breath. Humans didn't run this warm, could never achieve anything so perfect. Though he was far from the starved skin of that other male, Harry could find no ounce of fat, as though Hades was only made up of muscle, bone, and soft, silken and heated skin warmed further by the ambrosia flowing beneath it.

How long had he wanted this? If he hadn't been so completely enraptured, he would have marveled at this: the incredible privilege of being caressed by a god. This being that held the form of a man and the allure of something far greater, the beauty of which had caused thousands to cry out in hunger for it.

"Just remember," Hades whispered as he rose to his knees, sliding his jeans past narrow hips. "You wanted this."

Harry didn't have an answer for him, had barely heard the words. The voice, oh yes—sliding down his body like a physical hand, pulling at things low in his body. The sight of Hades, unmarred by cloth, had just taken any remaining breath from his chest. Speech had been lost minutes ago.

And then he was ripping away his own cumbersome garments, unable to understand why he had been wearing them at all.

Hades lifted Harry—for to him, he must have weighed nothing at all—and threw him. Airborne, the younger man landed with his head cushioned by large pillows, for once. On his back and naked, for what had to be the first time, Harry wasn't afraid, wasn't dreading what was to come. On the contrary, if he didn't get what Hades' expression promised, he would finally go mad.

The demon was there in an utterly inhuman and sensual series of movements, lithe body not quite touching Harry in some places as Hades stayed in a very unconventional push-up. No effort showed; Hades was running a hot tongue up Harry's sternum, moving on to leave glistening bites around his nipple, to draw it into his mouth and elicit blood. The liquid never had the chance to run down pale skin.

It was as if Hades could find nerves no one else had discovered, bowing Harry's spine as his body rose up to meet Hades' mouth. Hades had other things in mind, and placed a finalistic kiss on Harry's lips, harsh and quick and with the sweet taste of red, liquid copper.

OooOooOooOooOooOooOooOooOooOooOooOoo

It was some time later…it might have been hours. Days? No, that wasn't likely. He had no idea. All he was aware of was instinct and sensation. Thought and speech were beyond him.

His body knew that Hades had pulled out of him, that he was lying against him. That there was a viscous liquid, still warm, that stained parts of him. He couldn't remember the name for any of the parts. It was too hard. All he knew was that an incredible feeling of a new sort had washed over him. It was almost like being in shock, but far warmer, far more colourful, and with a taint of satisfaction. Endorphins seemed to soar through all of his body—but he hadn't remembered the name for those either.

There was that voice again. The satisfaction faded, and the first pang of need attacked. That voice! Gods, liquid seduction. If he could only lift his head, see that lovely, lovely face…those ripe, full lips, that smile.

As warm liquid ran down his throat, a little staining his throat, he almost choked. Putrid! It was terrible! Bitter and thick and…like someone had taken something from him. Like a little of the warmth…yes, the warmth was leaving! He could think, like he had just taken a glacial shower and downed a pot of strong, bitterly awful coffee. He was awake. Alert. He could move.

"Harry! Can you hear me yet?" Hades was asking him, sitting naked on the edge of the bed. He never seemed to notice, utterly unconcerned and at home with wearing nothing at all. Harry supposed if he had a body like Hades', he might not care either.

"Yeah," Harry said, though he'd had to clear his throat first. "Yeah, I hear you."

_Oh, gods_, he thought with a sinking feeling. He remembered, too. Of course he did. Who could possible forget? Gods, it had been _incredible_. No, far more than an insignificant word could ever describe.

"Good, because it's time for a shower," Hades said. He gave Harry a smile that still made him want to laugh with him, infectious as always. "Don't you think?"

"I…ergh…" Harry said, attempting to think very first. Alright. So he'd fucked him. He'd had amazing, mind-blowingly, incomprehensively good sex with his master. With Hades. With the one who fucked over his entire life. The one he'd been trying to hide his lust for ever since he'd laid eyes on him. The demon who had been the confirmation that yes, Harry did in fact like men, and girls were more of a side-interest.

"Can you walk? Here," Hades said, with a grin that tore the confused look from Harry's face, hard as he tried to keep it. Hades swept Harry into his arms, as though he was a hero and Harry was the damsel in distress.

Harry was shocked into laughter, as Hades spoke with him, as they walked down the hallway, being held by Hades for the first time in a way that wouldn't end in pain. As Hades reminded him of his quick wit, and a surprising knack for getting people to laugh, using no magic or wiles—only through his (if sometimes quite dark) sense of humor.

They discovered that Harry could stand, in the shower, thanks to the potion. Which, Hades explained to him, was so that Harry would not grow addicted to him, and especially to the sex.

"Addicted…" Harry said carefully. "What do you mean?"

"You know that one person who actually managed to find this place? Sometime last fall," Hades said, washing his pale arms. "She was addicted."

"Who—?" Harry started, and then abruptly, the image flickered before him. A woman older than 17 year old Harry by perhaps five or six years had appeared on their doorstop. She had appeared only slightly insane at first: eyes a little unfocused, hair tangled and spattered with debris from the forest, and panting. Then she had seen Hades, and pushed Harry aside into the rose garden with such force that he had actually been rather injured by it (though the thorns of the rose garden _were _abnormally deadly). And she had been human, pure mortal: a witch, but still.

Harry had been unconscious for the rest, but the kitchen slaves had told him that she had jumped Hades, who had been passing by to tell one of the slaves something. He'd been busy—apparently not in the mood to play—and had simply executed a quick hit to her neck and continued on into the kitchen.

"Ah," Harry said. "So…wait, people can become _addicted_ to you?"

"Yeah," Hades said, unconcerned with this fact. He was used to it. "The more sex, the stronger the addiction. The only way out is death."

"What?!" Harry stopped mid-motion. He'd been washing his hair. He could hear his heart in his throat. This often happened around Hades, but this…this was different. The only way out is death—

"Unless I give them a potion right after the first time," Hades added. "That's partially why this place is so damned hard to find. Junkies are some of the most determined people this world has to offer."

"She found you."

"Yeah, I led her here once and didn't bother to do anything about it. I was curious to see if she'd really fight to forest to get here," Hades said casually.

Harry held a hand out for the soap, almost accusatory. "And why do you addict people?"

Instead, Hades took the opportunity to wash his back, and the scars that he himself had inflicted upon it. At least he wouldn't be distracted by Hades' body, seeing as it was behind him. It was so damned frustrating talking to the bastard. Concentrating on the words was nearly impossible sometimes.

"I'm not doing it on purpose," Hades said, a hand on Harry's shoulder. Harry still had to concentrate to hear him. It was a learned skill, being able to listen to Hades without getting lost in his voice. And the gods help you if he was touching you. "I'm not just a demon, I'm an incubus, and an incubus of my caliber elicits severe addiction, through intercourse."

Hades said it matter-of-factly, not boasting.

Harry tried not to move into the touch. He tried to find a way to say what he wanted to, but wound up just spitting it out. "Then why…that's not fair, Hades. I don't want to be addicted."

"I told you," Hades said patiently, "you _aren't_. That's why I gave you the potion."

"Well, you messed up, then," Harry said, unsure what to feel exactly. The material running over his back was slightly coarse, but it sent shivers down his spine. Even this, Hades could turn into something sensual. "Because…I would definitely hate you. There's no way around that: I would hate you passionately, all of the time, if I wasn't addicted. So I must be."

Hades chuckled, and it was like warm rain, if rain could caress.

Harry interrupted him. "That!" Harry turned around to face him. Hades looked supremely amused. "Stop that, Hades! I need a stronger potion. You don't want me addicted, do you?"

"No, I don't," Hades said, smiling. He dropped the loofa and reached for the shampoo. Which made little sense, because Harry had smelled Hades' hair plenty of times before, and it was no scent found in a bottle.

"I don't want you to become a doll," Hades said with that same smile. "Your passion makes you unique."

"Then—?!"

Hades' smile widened. "I've negated any possible addiction, and I've been doing this for centuries, Harry. I don't make mistakes."

"No, you—"

Hades held up a hand. "What I can't help is if you're attracted to me outside of magic and addictions."

"Right. Like to your winning personality?" Harry said with a creditable sneer. The truth was that Hades' words chilled him to the bone. Which was the same as fearing the monster in the closet—it was just impossible. Attracted to _what? _Lust was one thing, but…

Hades' smile bloomed into a grin. "Right."

Harry tried to kill his smile, and failed. "Well. You're a psychotic son of a twisted bitch who ruined my life and continues to do so everyday. You just raped and fed on the last connection to my old life."

Hades shrugged, hands entangled in his long hair. "Don't ask me, I'm not your psyche."

Frustrated, Harry refused to let it go. "You must be doing _something_."

"No," Hades said matter-of-factly. "I'm not. I have no idea why you'd like me either. I am indeed a son a twisted bitch who ruined your life. Except I'm not psychotic, you exaggerated there."

The conversation further degraded from there. Harry kept losing track of his train of thought, and found himself following the path of the water droplets as they trailed down Hades' body. Eventually frustration won, and Harry gave up, storming out of the bathroom as Hades dried off, laughing. Just one sentence! That was all. Just one piddling little string of words. Was he really that pathetic?

"Harry, wait a second," Hades called, and Harry, conditioned, simply stopped. He flushed, realizing that he was behaving like a well-trained dog, but didn't move.

"You two can have your own room," Hades said, joining Harry in the hallway with a white towel wrapped around his waist. Dark hair trailing about him, heavy with water, chest glistening, he was so beautiful that it made Harry's throat catch. It wasn't just that he was sexually attractive—it was more than that. More than something you could buy off the streets or have a dream about every once in a while, waking up in serious need of a freezing shower. It wasn't cheap, wasn't as simple as that.

"Really?" Harry said, more to force any conversation out than anything.

"Sure, why not," Hades said with an elegant shrug. "Take the guest room, two doors down."

"Thanks," Harry said, having learned that this was no small thing. Also, to be ungrateful was to give Hades an excuse, and that was never a good idea. "Thank you, Hades. I'll go…"

He stopped, breath catching in his throat. Draco. Oh, God. Draco.

"Go where, Harry?" Hades' voice was filled to the brim with laughter, as if he knew exactly what was going through Harry's head. "To the one who was forced to listen to your screams of ecstasy while he lay there and bled?"

"Yeah…that one," Harry said softly, wanting to move away from Hades, but not sure where.

"Have a key," Hades said happily. A second later, an old-fashioned golden key hit Harry in the head, surprisingly heavy.

"Thanks," Harry muttered, feeling the back of his head to assess the damage and feeling lower than he ever had. As far as he could recall, at least. He hadn't even had the tact to wait until the next day. Or to wait until Draco was in the kitchen, anywhere but next door. No, he'd just fucked him—loudly—right after Draco had been raped. Right after that speech he'd given, on why he didn't like Hades.

Something dark and slimy seemed to swim through his stomach, and the lights blurred a little. He bent to pick up the key, wishing he could melt into the floor.

A/N: Sorry about the censorship, but my goal is to not have this story deleted for the second time. Someday this story in all of its sick-minded, uncensored, perversiony glory will be posted. Someday. And please do review. It's wonderful to see reviews from people who followed the old version (I'm hoping this one is an improvement, reading over some of the old chapters [ouch ) and thank you very much to those who take the time to review. This is what I'm going to do for a living (can you see me in any other job? I'd get fired while they were still interviewing me), and I adore feedback. Thank you.


	13. Secrets

A/N: Hey, presto. A chapter!

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Every step of the way dragged. The hallway had never looked so long, and it wasn't long enough. How could he have forgotten? How could he have forgotten Draco's pathetically thin, quiet form?

The door loomed large before him, a wood that was more suited to the perils of residing in a house containing Hades. It was more solid than other wood—like most material at Hades' house, it was one Harry had not found elsewhere.

It was unlikely that it would be locked, but Harry still raised a shaking few fingers to the door, tapping lightly. It was stupid, really. Whatever Draco could be doing could not possibly be more intimate than that moment: _Don't look at me,_had been all he'd said.

"Yeah."

Harry fitted the key into its tiny abyss, and pushed open the door.

It was far harder than he'd thought to meet Draco's eyes. His neck was what he settled on, and that said how very little he wanted to make eye contact: it wasn't a pretty sight. Not to Harry, at least. It was raw and just a little bloody, as though it'd recently stopped bleeding. From his Adam's apple to just below his shoulder was a varying degree of destruction. Blood smeared down his chest in a strange pattern that Harry had never seen. It turned his stomach just a little. Were those runes? Past languages that only Hades remembered? Random designs of a twisted mind?

All Draco had seemed to have the energy for was pants. They were ill-fitting in every respect, showing his ankles yet slipping beneath his too-bony hips. Harry swallowed. He remembered those pants. They had belonged to another boy, once.

"Er…so there's a wardrobe in here?" Harry asked awkwardly. He shut the door behind him, making his way over to the wooden wardrobe, which was very obviously in the corner.

Draco didn't deem it necessary to humor him with a reply. "Are there any books in here?"

Surprised that Draco would even speak to him, Harry answered gratefully, "No. I mean, yes, there's a library, but you don't want to go there."

"No?" Harry could almost feel Draco's eyebrows lifting, as he rifled through the wardrobe for something half-decent to wear.

"No," Harry said firmly. Talking, talking was good. Better to talk than to think. To think about how he still felt bloody great, guilt aside. About how he wasn't bleeding or aching, and he was warm and clean and trying not to smile. Not to _smile_. While Draco was lying on his stomach on the bed, tired and hurting and half-dead.

"Why not?"

"Uh…I've never gotten far enough to find out," Harry admitted. He'd settled on jeans and discarded his white towel for (at last!) regular boxers. Clean or no, he tried not to think of who had worn these before him. Of how they had died. Had they hated Hades? Had they been drawn to him?

"A little more detail?" Draco sounded a little annoyed.

"Something in there he doesn't want seen is my best guess," Harry said readily. Draco could have insulted him, screaming, for hours, and he would have lowered his eyes and taken it. Because he would have deserved it. Because there was nothing he could say to fix this. "But even I'm not curious enough to go for it again."

"How many times have you tried?"

"Once."  
"That's it?"

"Once was enough. Trust me."

Draco blew out a breath. "That could be the key to our freedom, Potter. Whatever's in there."

"I know." Harry was silent for a moment, choosing to sit upon the windowsill. There was one window in the medium-sized room, and the view was of nothing. There was glass, but it was as though more glass was behind it. He'd once pounded upon windows like these until his hands had swollen, purple and broken. The glass had not been affected in the least.

"But there is no way to get in," Harry said, leaning his head against the cool glass. Damn, but he did feel good. "It's not even locked." He gave a short laugh. "The bastard doesn't even lock it."

Draco, to his credit, understood the significance of this. "So he got to you before you reached the doors, I assume?"

"Yeah."

Draco didn't press for details. Silence stretched between the two of them for a long while, until Harry finally burst.

"…Malfoy," he said, stringing his words together (after a pause, in which he'd caught himself just in time), "I'm sorry. I'm really sorry."

"Whatever," Draco said, just a little stiffly. "I already knew you liked him."

Harry tried not to frown. "But… I said that…"

"And I said that I have seen the way that you look at him," Draco said sharply. "Forget it. You fucked him."

He was about to end it there, and then realized that he still had nothing to lose. No one to tell him to hold his tongue, to mind his words. No one cared whether he spoke like an aristocrat or like a street rat.

"I already told you that you were a whore," Draco said, eyes fixated on the wardrobe. "You denied it, so that just means that you're a sodding liar, too. So what? It's only a demon. So what if the whole world could hear you fucking?" He closed his eyes, energy leaving him. "…In short, fuck you."

He hadn't meant to. He was only closing his eyes because it was so much easier than leaving them open. But not slowly, not gradually, the room pixilated and rolled away.

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"I'm sorry," Harry whispered, unable to deny any of it. He was far too steeped in his own guilt to notice that something was a little off. Five minutes later, which he had though an appropriate time of waiting, he tried to fix things. Again. And there came no answer.

Finally, he realized that it wasn't anger that was silencing Draco. He had passed out again.

"Shit!" Harry said passionately. He couldn't remembering cussing this often ever in his life. This house had not been a good influence on him.

He hovered above the blond for a moment, then decided against moving him. He didn't want to make matters worse. He took off at a jog for the kitchen, muttering to himself.

"Or is it Hades?" Harry cursed again, realizing that it might not be food. How much blood had he lost? Had Hades given him a potion? Did Hades care if he died?

"Hades!" Harry called, abruptly changing direction and skidding into Hades' room. He seemed to be sketching something, lying on the bed. "Hades, how much blood have you taken from him?"

Hades' eyes flicked up, unconcerned. "He's a big boy, Harry. He just needs some food, some sugar."

"How much blood?" Harry repeated, voice rising.

"Just get the food, Harry," Hades said, dismissing him. "And instead of water, get the slaves to find some juice, or some Gatorade. Nifty Muggle invention. It works."

"He isn't dying?" Harry asked, hovering between the doorway and the hall.

"No, drama queen, he is not dying. Get out of here."

Harry got out of there.

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Blood loss and shock did not mix well with near-complete-starvation, as it turned out. The fifth time that Draco slipped into darkness after a feeding, Hades decided a potion would be a hell of a lot easier.

Harry was there to make him take it. Hades had gone out on Business, into the cool autumn air. He'd waited to be near the door, so he could remember what season it was. Early Fall. The smell of crisp leaves and impending cold.

"We have to get into that library," Draco said, lying on his back with his eyes closed. His cheeks were flushed, an improvement. He'd been a rather sickly shade of white-gray previously. "This is getting a little trying."

Harry grunted unintelligibly. He was sick of telling Draco exactly _how_ suicidal of an idea that was. The pillow also restricted words fairly efficiently.

"I've been here for two weeks," Draco said, a perfect monotone. "I am_not_ living my life here."

Harry didn't know why, exactly. He was aching, yes. He was tired, yes. But in a way that is bone-deep, soul-deep, nothing that sleep could cure. Tired of death. Tired of seeing the skeletal Draco faint and seeing his new scars. Just Tired. But it still came as a surprise to Draco to realize that the small convulsions wracking Harry were sobs. The plain white of the pillow (slaves' pillows were usually just that) darkened slightly in places. He was trying to keep it silent, but he didn't quite have enough sanity at the moment to stop himself.

"Potter? Oh, for Christ's Sake…" Draco forgot that he was talking like a muggle, that he didn't believe in Christ in the first place. He'd been exposed to many strange words and concepts here, such as "Gator-ade", a sickly-bright liquid that he was supposed to drink when he awoke from being unconscious.

"Sh-shut up," Harry said, voice shaking, and then lost to the tears. "You're such a goddamned git, Draco."

"Did I give you permission to call me that? No, I don't believe I did. Bloody poof," Draco muttered. It made him uncomfortable when people broke down. He had the tendency to make it worse, often voluntarily, but occasionally just because he hadn't the faintest idea how to do it. It didn't happen often, thankfully. Most of the people he dealt with showed little to no emotion, and certainly never cried.

"Does it really matter?" Harry asked with something half-way between a laugh and a sob. "Who fucking cares what we call each other? I could call you Ernie Macmillan or Mother Teresa and it wouldn't do a damned thing."

"Why are you so emotional?" Draco asked, stressing the "so". He leaned back on his hands and watched the bones jut out of his crossed ankles. His toes were cold. "You do everything enthusiastically. You're the most pathetic specimen I know."

Harry lifted his head for a second to look at Draco. Tears traced tiny rivulets down his cheeks. "Did you just call me a specimen?"

Draco shrugged. "You just said it doesn't matter. Will you stop crying already? How can one person be so wet?"

"How can one person be so dead?" Harry replied somewhat sullenly, dragging a hand across his cheeks. He would stop. He would stop crying. Now. "You never feel anything. Why's _that_?"

"Because I'm more practical than you," Draco told him, the strange desire to move aside a single strand of Harry's hair aside passing through him. It had passed very quickly. "I'm looking for a way out and you're bemoaning your life."

"Stuff it!" Harry sat up. "Look. I'm the practical one. Yes, I know I'm weak. But you're just not realistic! You think you can outsmart Hades? Hades could outsmart all of England if he felt like it."

"Maybe," Draco said calmly. "Or maybe the library really does hold the key and you just give up too easily."

"Oh, will you shut up about the library!" Harry growled. "It doesn't matter. We wouldn't get it, I can tell you now. Just accept this."

"Then I shall get it myself," Draco said, utterly un-intimidated by this. Harry's eyes were still abnormally bright with the remnants of tears.

Harry was silent for a moment. Draco gazed at the ceiling and wondered what Hades had done to make Harry so fearful of a room full of books. Then again, this was Hades. He didn't doubt that it had been suitably horrifying.

Harry broke the silence. "You said some time ago that I couldn't save everything. I know that. I'm not as naïve as you think I am. You also made it sound like you've already…"

"Already what, Potter?" Draco said, eyes cooling.

"Someone's already abused you, haven't they?" Harry said softly, ignoring the warning.

"Gods, Potter, you never know when to shut it, do you?!" Draco snapped, infuriated. That word! He hated that word. He sneered at it. It made him want to lash out at whoever used it in relation to himself. "I have not been _abused_. Fucking pansy."

"Who was it?" Harry felt a hidden cruel streak emerging. It wasn't even the pansy comments, or the mocking, or the history. It was just him. "Who did it?"

"No one did it!" Draco was almost shouting by now, normally dead eyes ablaze. He was standing to the side. "I am not a fucking teenage tragedy! You know, like you're always calling yourself."

Harry ignored the insult. He didn't need to deny it. They both probably knew it as untrue—at least Harry did. "Alright, Draco. But someone fucked you, didn't they?"

Draco's teeth were bared, his limbs shaking with the effort to restrain himself. He drew himself up at the door, collecting his thoughts. He was calm. He was cold. He was a Malfoy. "It's Malfoy. I now recall why I never spoke to filth like you, Potter."

The door handle refused to relent beneath his hand. Try as he might, all it did was click and rattle at him.

"He locked it," Draco said plainly.

"Figures," Harry said.

Draco turned back to him, the back to the door. Would it be worth it to knock the door down?

"Those doors could withstand an atom bomb," Harry said, not without satisfaction. "Best of luck."

There was a hush of paper, and a white slip appeared under the door. Draco stared at it, then bent down to pick it up. Straightening, he scanned the elegant, slanting hand:

_**I've waited nearly two months, and it's been great, but I think it's time you told Harry. Unless you'd rather I did? **_

_**All of my love, **_

_**Hades**_

_**P.S. There's my equivalent of veritaserum in that potion. It should kick in about ten minutes later. If you haven't started by then, you'll spew your life's story to Harry. Enjoy! **_

Draco read it again, then out loud.

"He isn't joking, is he?"

"No," Harry said, sitting up a little straighter. "Better get started, Draco. I've seen that stuff at work. He isn't exaggerating."

"I can't…there's no way…" Draco searched for a way to express his rage. A string of rather creative curses was the closest he came. "What the hell is he playing at?! You don't need to know anything! What could this possibly accomplish?!"

"It probably amuses him. He does love games."

Draco raged, and did not do so in the form of words.

"Better get started," Harry said cheerfully.

"Don't smile at me!" Draco snapped, thinking rapidly. "What am I supposed to tell you?"

Harry sobered so quickly that Draco was unnerved. What the hell was wrong with the man? His emotions were all over the place.

"Something made you the way you are," Harry said quietly. "I want to know what."

"Fine! Fuck both of you," snarled Draco. His normally pale face was flushed with anger. "I'll tell you on my own time. Right now, before that abomination sets in."

"It will let you," Harry said, keeping his voice at a careful, level tone. "Hades' will is in most of his potions, don't ask me how. You should be fine, now that it knows you're going to tell me."

"Fantastic," Draco growled, running a hand through his blond hair. He took a seat on the bed to keep from pacing. He was silent, the anger ebbing out of his face and voice until he simply looked pale and a little tired. The shadows underneath his dull eyes were especially prominent. When was the last time he had slept, really slept?

"Well, why not?" he asked, quieter. He reasoned it out, and he almost believed it. "If a secret is to be guarded so carefully, then it means that for the bearer of the secret, it matters. It means that it affects one. I am not affected."

HHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

A/N: Sorry if I haven't been replying to your reviews—I got all mixed up about which I have and have not answered. Know that I appreciate them greatly, however, and that I do love feedback. Also, on the nasty-but-true side, without feedback, I really do forget about this story. So reviews inspire me in a very necessary way to update. Thank you.


	14. Filth

I present to you, Chapter XIV…

_"Fantastic," Draco growled, running a hand through his blond hair. He took a seat on the bed to keep from pacing. He was silent, the anger ebbing out of his face and voice until he simply looked pale and a little tired. The shadows underneath his dull eyes were especially prominent. When was the last time he had slept, really slept?_

_"Well, why not?" he asked, quieter. He reasoned it out, and he almost believed it. "If a secret is to be guarded so carefully, then it means that for the bearer of the secret, it matters. It means that it affects one. I am not affected."_

HHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

The poisonous resolution in Draco's voice in those last four words confirmed it for Harry. _I am not affected. _The "secret" philosophy was not his own. Why it would make sense for anyone to treat a secret so incriminating so lightly was beyond Harry. Did they know Draco enough to be certain that he would never tell anyone, and that those words would only haunt him? Who would be sick enough to do that?

All important questions, and right now all he could think of was if Draco had any idea how strong he was. If he had any idea what Harry would give to have that kind of cool control.

"It sounds like someone told you that," Harry ventured.

"Yes," Draco said, sitting up straighter. It was as if the words unconsciously brought out the necessity of acting exactly like he was raised. His speech become crisper, more curt, and somehow even less emotional. That upper-class accent of his became more pronounced and his spine straightened, chin tilting up and gray eyes cooling further. To do this, he had to forget everything, every threat, every truth. He had to Leave. Dissociate.

While Harry witnessed the changed, somewhat amazed, he noted that it seemed automatic. Draco didn't notice.

Harry then waited patiently, already feeling like a complete jackass for teasing him about something so serious. He shouldn't have treated this like just another game. Just as he opened his mouth to apologize, Draco's cracked lips parted to speak.

Draco

"My father has a brother." Draco's voice flattened, in agreement with the dull of his eyes and slack mouth. He could feel the words leaving his lips in the voice of another. He was a puppet, words that could belong to anyone feeding through his mouth. He was inanimate. He was not affected. He did not remember.

"He would visit Malfoy Manor from time to time. He was Father's brother, and a Death Eater. The two of them did 'business' together."

Draco's mouth swung shut on its hinges. _Get to the point. You're saying too much. _

"He was not particular. Woman or men….boys…" Draco was staring at a point an inch to the left of Harry's hair. He would say as little as possible. "My father was not always home. Mother," his dispassionate face did not so much as twitch, "did not care."

Harry drew in a sharp breath without meaning to. Had she listened? She must have known! He had to shut out his mind as it sifted through every morbid, violent possibility. He gritted his teeth. He swore that even his mind was out to hurt him sometimes.

"I said nothing." Draco did not move, the epitome of composure and said for the third time, "He was my father's brother. This went on until I was sixteen—last year. My father is a very intelligent man. I do not see how he could not have known. Perhaps he grew tired of it, because one day, Father simply kicked open the door."

Draco smiled, a mere indent in his stone lips, and he could see that he was baffling Harry just a little. He could almost feel the lout's thought process: This was a _good_ memory? As though the smile was genuine. Fool.

"He kicked open the door and performed the Cruciatus Curse on his own brother. It was brilliant." Draco closed his eyes. His eyelids weighed too much. "I have seen him since. But he has never tried anything again."

Abruptly, Draco doubled over, bucking forward. Harry leapt to his feet, just as Draco held out a hand to keep him away. On the back of his hand was a red, raw L that was warm to the touch. It carried with it the sharp, acrid scent of burning flesh.

Draco crumbled as though he had never been, and in an instant, was pure rage. Cradling the hand that was barely his. L for liar. L for Lucius. And with one letter, sewage spewed forth from his mouth, that inanimate gaping hole. And through it, filth spilled. "Fuck you! So what if he did?! It was a game to him! It was a game to everyone! He never fucked me again!"

He was spitting out words like bullets. Biting off each word and hurling them at a burn. Or maybe at the memory of the face that so resembled his father, but wasn't. The face threatened to swallow him, magnifying the bloodless lips, then that hard, angular face…forming words…matching filth for filth. He couldn't hear his own words, only what those cold lips were telling him.

Another voice, obscenely free of everything that painted Draco's world in shades of sewage. It floated into the memories, cut through the throbbing pain in his hand. He could feel the heat from it, even as it faded as disgusting, tainted truth overcame him.

"Draco! He might have put something else in there, but don't get lost in it! You don't have to listen! You're here now!"

Draco's eyes blinked awake, slow and sluggish, and he forced words through his ruined lips. It was harder than it should have been, like running through waist-deep water. He pushed through, willing the words through, willing the pale, storm-gray eyes of Dresden away.

"Yeah…because here is really…an improvement. Now I can be raped by a more powerful man whenever he likes. Yeah…glad I'm here."

"It's selfish, but me too," the 17 year old who-had-almost-saved-the-world said, green eyes sincere with every emotion that Draco didn't have.

"Yeah." Draco felt like he had just run miles, cried every tear he hadn't cried and would never cry and _had_ never cried, and taken every exam he'd ever taken. And he'd only offered up a couple of sentences. But it had seemed so much more. Too much. One word answers were good. He didn't even know what he meant, but he said it anyway.

"You've never told anyone, have you?," Harry said, and Draco wondered if Harry had ever matured past ten years old.

Draco felt a well of animosity beneath his tired exterior. How dare he. How dare he talk to him like this? But more than anything, how dare _he _tell anyone?

He'd told someone? Oh. Oh no. He'd told. He'd told someone. He forgot that he had had no choice and a tidal wave of filth crashed over him, followed by a tsunami of fear. For a moment, he was numb with terror. No. No, he could not accept that he had told.

Visions of that face danced before him, whispering bittersweet nothings that were interwoven with the truth. _You know that if you tell anyone, they will all know what a disgusting child you are. They will shrink from you, Draco, and you will have no one, because they will know that you gave in, that you couldn't stop me. No one respects weakness. Especially not him…_

Another memory surfaced, shouldering its way into his mind, and rendering him completely helpless.

_He was screaming, and not because it hurt. He was screaming because his body was shaking, and he could feel sweat forming at the small of his back. Screaming because maybe by sheer force of sound he could prevent his body from succumbing to this…_

_Curled up afterwards in the Red Room, on the velvety couch still stained with his humiliation. Dresden curled around him, liquor in the hand that wasn't idly stroking Draco's bare back. _

_Draco said nothing. He didn't want to see the proof of his…he could not even say it. Could not think it. He had enjoyed it. He had loved it. Physically. In every other sense, he might never have been through anything more painful. There was nothing more. He would never be able to look anyone in the eye after this, he was sure. He would wonder if they could look at him and see the infection in his face. He would always wonder if they could somehow know, and once he left, they hid behind elegant fans and curled their lips, whispering scathing words. _

_"Oh, if only my brother could see you now," Dresden marveled, sipping his brandy. "Satiated to the point where you cannot so much as sit up. Lying in your own dirty seed. Wouldn't you like to know what he would say?"_

_Draco said nothing, but the room had gone cold. He shivered. _

_"Let's wait until he comes home." His uncle's voice had dropped to a whisper. "I want him to know the truth of his son."_

_It seemed such a tremendous effort to talk, but fear pulled him up as though by strings. "Don't," Draco said, smoothing down his hair, his skin compulsively. He needed to look smart and together when his father came home. _

_"You mean you don't want him to know?" Dresden's slow smile was not lost on his nephew. "Well…if that's the case, then you are going to have to…"_

Fade, new memory taking its place. This time he was far younger.

_A considerably different Draco sat in his uncle's lap. He'd turned about, curious. Something was digging into his flesh, just a little. It was hard, but there was nothing there but his uncle. _

"_Shhh…" his uncle whispered, holding a long finger to bloodless lips. __The book that had been spread, spilling pages of print and vibrant colours, shut quietly in a hush of pages and leather. _

_His small hands under his Uncle's, sliding slowly against something long, something that fascinated him. It was soft, as silken as the skin of his child's chest. And then the hands were moving faster, gliding, wrapping his little hands around the thing. Draco didn't know what to call it, had no idea what his uncle was doing. _

_His uncle gave a shudder, and something spilled out of the tip, something pale and cream-like. He looked up, to see if his uncle had expected this, and his face was full of a strange kind of light, a dark one that reminded Draco of fire. The cream-like substance covered Draco's hand and it was strangely warm. Except when his uncle guided his young nephew's hand into his mouth, it wasn't cream-like at all. It was bittersweet, but mostly bitter, salty. _

_His uncle's breathing was a little different. He told Draco, "Don't tell your parents, do you understand? This is a secret that only you and I can know."_

Later he would tell Draco that if he told he would kill him. That he would find him, wherever he was, and murder him.

Now, back to the present, Draco gagged, as he realized that his first memory of anything had been of sex. He hadn't remembered. Why was he remembering any of this now? He didn't want to think of any of this, and knew his skin had probably grayed to a sickly hue. He swallowed, as if he could swallow nausea and memory itself, and tried to hear what Harry was saying. His lips were moving, he had to be saying something. And anything would be better than this. He did not want the truth. He didn't want to know any of the memories that he had forgotten. He hadn't known that it had started that early.

Draco seemed to be choking on something, or possibly suffocating. He had shrunk a little, no longer confident or snide in the least. His head was bent, and Harry couldn't tell what his expression was like. Downy hair fell over his face, just in case Harry could see any of him.

"Draco! Draco, answer me!" Harry demanded, more concerned than anything else. He knew Draco was flashing back on what had happened to him. He knew, and he wanted to stop it.

Instead, a sort of gasping sound answered him. Draco was screaming without making any noise, broken nails clutching at his face. They clawed at his face, drawing blood. A string of obscenities left his contorted mouth, then melding into a wordless scream that was too low to truly be labeled as such. Draco's face lifted, and it was twisted into terror, into agony like Harry must have seen before, but it crept over his skin like worms, prickling the back of his neck.

Another string of curses, sounding like rage, but really, simply a terror of "telling". A terror of being found weak, inadequate, filth. And a subconscious but very real fear that his uncle could find him, even now.

"It's just a potion!" Harry shouted, knowing that it likely was not. Knowing that it was a truth potion and all it did was cause Draco to let everything out. It was peeling away every carefully constructed layer of self-control, of calm and some semblance of normality.

Several excruciating minutes later, Draco's lungs and voice gave out. His voice was hoarse now, having shouted away all that he could. It hadn't been enough.

The potion was wearing off, and somewhere, Harry wondered sort of sadly if Hades was laughing. If he really thought this was amusing. He looked at Draco, cheeks bleeding slightly, face sunken and wild at the same time, his entire body seized by something Harry could only guess at.

"Shit," Draco said passionately, his final curse. For now. "You forget everything. I never said anything."

"You really didn't actually," Harry said, trying to keep his voice inoffensive. "You only said that it was your uncle. I've never once met your uncle. I don't even know his name. I don't know any details, I promise."

Draco rubbed his face, smearing blood. "I can't believe I did that. I can't believe I told you. I can't believe he drew that out of me."

Draco was done being the victim. He was shaking so hard, and it was all anger now. Justified rage. The best kind.

"I'll kill him," Draco swore. "I will blow his brains out, find my wand and—"

"He's immortal," Harry said gently. He knew the feeling.

"No one is immortal!" Draco snarled, and his grey eyes were the colour of a storm, and had twice the malice. "I will find a way!"

If it were anyone but Hades, Harry could have believed him.

DDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDD

A/N: That was ridiculously hard to convey, damnit. Stupid Draco. Goes completely out of character and yet it's in the very basis of his character…I tried though, and I would love feedback.


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